


Greatest Price

by GypsyMoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Brooklyn, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, HYDRA's new era, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity Stones, Past Lives, Punishment, Redemption, Self-Sacrifice, Steve admits his love to Peggy, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 87,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyMoon/pseuds/GypsyMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve must take the stand against the darkness as old ghosts of his past threaten to take his strength, heart and his best friend's soul. Driven by the guilt of failing to save Bucky in 1944, the captain must fight to restore what has been lost to him. It won't be easy, however, he must find hope in himself and not lose his true existence.(Co-written by: Thalion Estel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

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**Greatest Price**

**(Co-written by** **Thalion Estel)**

**All Captain America characters belong to Marvel Comics**

**I own nothing.**

** **

* * *

**{Chapter 1}**

He felt the midnight hour was approaching. The harvest moon was a misty shade of orange. Leaves twirled under gleams of streetlights. Darkness moved against the amber haze of the restless city. People overlooked a solitary figure as a shadow drifting throughout the hours of the night. He wasn't considered a man, but a ghost of a nameless and forgotten solider. He had lost his way home. James Buchanan Barnes. It was days, years since he suspected that that was his name. First the awareness that he felt when his eyes became transfixed on the images of Captain America, and then it followed as he stood in front of exhibit of the Howling Commandos, reading off their names to himself with memory and awareness, but between the shades of infinite gray.

Although, he felt blood pumping in his veins, he couldn't feel it. He was the Asset. Not some blonde haired soldier's friend. Inside his addled mind, there was a storm; a cyclone of memory that ravaged his disciplined thoughts was flickers of faces and reflections of a young man dressed in a uniform. He'd spent days, avoiding newspaper stands and storefront windows. He didn't want to look at the fading visage of himself. He wanted to look back into the darkness.

Shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his tattered leather jacket; hunched his shoulders and his face under his new baseball cap. His long strands of messy brown hair loosely fell over his clenched jaw. Once his got a clear understanding of his sense of direction, he trudged cautiously through, pale blue eyes scanning methodically over the obscured alleyways and parking lots. He was searching for something. Instead of asking for directions from the occasional passing hooded figure who intruded his space, he paced back into the shadows, and watched traffic with his unmoving and hollow gaze. He could kill anyone within seconds; his combat knife was tucked in the pocket of his faded jeans. He refused to allow his savage impulses to control him; he seized enough resistance to permit his programming from engaging into a lethal assault with an unarmed bystander captured in his intense gaze.

Suddenly there was a shift of dread, he felt trapped, and a cold sweat of an arising fever seeped out of his pores. He released a deep and heavy exhale of panic. His back slammed against the wall, his lips parted as hot breath contorted in his lungs. His darkened eyes shifted in all directions, and chrome fingers curled over his knife. He turned his head and locked livid pools of blue on a group of monsters and superheroes casually walking across the street, holding pillowcases filled with candy. He crouched down low, behind a parked vehicle, his blood pumping in his ears as he waited for the right moment to assault. When he heard the childish laughter emerge from the mask, he sensed there was no danger and withdrew from his attack. It was Halloween.

"ребятишки." He murmured with a cold breath, and straightened his form. He stared at the group until they disappeared from his view. He didn't follow them. His boots crunched over specks of glass scattered across the cement and he walked to the curbs in hushed and orderly steps. He needed motivation to live once more, and not get to be struck in a void of fractured memories.

Commotions of activity jarred through his bones, and he tore his look away, and moved his body before a storefront window. Hurling out a full breath, he took a look at the visage of a young man got in reflection-clean shaven jaw and full lips; regardless he conveyed the presence of a threatening, deadly wraith.

Snarling up his throat, he faulted a step back, metal hand grasped and his eyes tore away. He shook his head, feeling a wave of uneasiness crawling over him. He continued strolling aggressively, not paying attention of his surroundings. Then, he halted in his strides, and heaving out a heavy gulp of air, he gripped his fingers over the iron bars of a rusted gate of a cemetery. He whipped his head around feeling a pair of unseen eyes watching his movements. He gazed passively at the dismal marble headstones and markers. It was an asylum for the dead.

He needed to rest.

Pushing the gate with the power of his metal hand, he pounded his boots over pieces the crumpled stone. A harrowing sense fear had found a way to slither in his veins; however, he overlooked those stirrings when he walked closer to a barren tree. His imposing form loomed before the oval and monolith gravestones of fallen soldiers who had returned home after the war had ended in 1945.

Each of the markers was split with grime and neglect. In other words: forgotten.

"Sergeant James Barnes..." An encroaching voice interrupted his thoughts. Alarmed, he shot a hooded glare on a nameless grave. His eyes drooped as he caught a glimpse of rotten flower petals scattered over the untouched earth. Blankly gazing at the spot, he mindfully approached the grave, his shadow moved over the stone marker. "It's been a long time, Winter Soldier..."

He struggled to process memory. "Who's there?"

For a moment, silence came over the area, until he heard a shattering scream in the darkness. He spun around quickly; his hat fell to the ground, and pulled out his knife. His fingers fastened over the handle as he listened with enhanced hearing. It was cry of distress that stirred between the trees. It was a cry for help. Another chuckle echoed in the dead space. Unfaltering, he did a quick perimeter check, and maintain his balance. His blue eyes glinted in the dimness of moonlight.

The Winter Soldier approached the gravesite with slow calculating movements of a stalking predator, waiting to feel the adrenaline rush of the chase. He froze and narrowed an unsettling glower at slender dark creature sprawled in front of a tombstone. It was obviously a stray cat. Lifeless and battered with her little pink tongue hanging out of her mouth. He assessed the dead feline, his fingers brushed over the drenched fur with a touch of benevolence. He felt raw emotion crawl back into him as his hand pressed gently over dislocated bones. The cat had been crushed and thrown against the stone. Her back was broken He guessed that was the cause of her death. He narrowed his eyes with a solemn gaze and he smelt blood as interpretable fog of red engulfed his mind. His stoic posture was disturbed by a stab of discomfort and unease within his abdomen.

It was strange and unnatural.

Feeling a tug on his heartstrings, the Winter Soldier felt compelled to tenderly stroke his metal fingers over the black fur. It was clear to him that someone misused the defenseless creature. Staring, his blue eyes darkened into piercing daggers of ice. He scooped up the body in the cradle of his solid arms. He didn't want to leave her for other strays to devour her body into pieces.

He crashed to his knees, laden on the ground, and pounded his metal fist into the grass, his metal fingers smeared with mud as he broke his lips open and unleashed a cry of anguish. He screamed and felt his nose crinkled at the smell of terror and death blanketing over his disheveled form. He was tired of staring at the grim shrouds of death, and the excruciating pain that scorched in his bones and made him feel like his blood melted inside his veins.

Little fragments of memory emerged out of his mind; scattered images became pieces of a stolen life-there was a condemning sense, and the Winter Soldier felt it encase over his bones. His eyes fixed on the murdered animal and hand scooped the body into the nest of his broad arms, he cradled the cat against the exposed tactical armor of his chest. Light gathered in the depth of his intense gaze of icy blue. He had no idea why he had accepted humanity back into the rifts of his tormented soul and how he responded to the stray with gentleness of a child.

A harsh cough erupted in the shadows; he whirled around and scanned for illusions of danger. Behind the clustered shapes of graves his eyes fell onto a woman standing underneath the contorted branches of the tree with a sinister look shrouding on her wrinkled face. Pressing his thumb over the handle of his weapon, his death glare leveled with her dark eyes, and he stood frozen. The cloying sense of uncertainty and the heavy smell of blood made his stomach react with sickening churns of unease. His heart thumped with concurrent thuds against his chest. His eyes glinted at the stranger, a feverish and daunting blue, as confusion settled within the ridges of his tensed form.

The woman crept forward with a shady look on her aging face. Her eyes moving up and down to scan over his tall body. His jaw fixed with anger as he stepped back, and his knife rose to her shoulder. He had to overcome her threat. She didn't move. Her gaze settled on the cat. He watched her for another moment, and then twirled his weapon between his fingers of his left hand. He growled, dangerous, albeit and gravelly, even though she revealed to hostility. "Make a move. I will slash your throat. It will be unwise if you try to attack me." Sensing no attempt of an assault he slowly crouched down and placed the cat near the grave. "This animal has been slain in a brutal way." He breathed out, settling his gaze back at the woman—he started to feel a bad sense of deception coming from her—she didn't look like an approachable person and there was a foul smell that kept him distant... "Did you kill her?"

The woman coldly glowered at his knife. She pressed her wrinkled lips into a sneer. Her body twisted with an eerie snake-like movement. "Perhaps I did drain her blood with a simple spell." She snapped her fingers and instantly the limp paw of the cat rose and sunk its claws into his right arm. Alarmed, he wrenched his arm back, and rubbed the coldness of his metal hand over the damaged skin. "Black cats made the perfect and loyal companion for many types of evil that walk in human flesh. You should know, Winter Soldier, because in the way you were HYDRA's obedient pet."

He furrowed his eyebrows into a firm crease, "How do you know me?" he asked, with sluggish ting in his baritone. Feeling a shift of discomfort his eyes narrowed at the cat and recollection suddenly dawned onto him. "Wait...Are you accusing me...?" He couldn't finish his words as the woman circled around him like a coiling serpent waiting to strike him down. She knelt in front of the cat, and pressed her hand over the stomach. "Stay away from me!" He growled fiercely.

"It's too late for that. You have to pay for your mistakes." She lashed back with a vicious timbre, and dug her fingernails into the cat's chest, breaking through fur and tissue as she advanced closer to him. The Winter Soldier lurched aback, trying to escape from her. "You can't fight for your soul because haven't got one." she coldly sneered, watching his expression turn dismal underneath the obscurity of his long brown hair and she added, "You have been immobilized for the transcendence of a new life." She lifted up the lifeless body over his head, and watched the blood leak aimlessly out from the hole she created and watched it drip over his jaw. "When I'm done you'll be nothing...Just a worthless stray without a name."

"Shut up!" He seethed out an angry breath. He pushed her knee out with direct force of his hand. A rueful grin crossed his lips as he listened to the sound of socket popping out. Then, he swiveled his knife and jabbed it deep and hard into her calf bone. "Bleed...ведьма!"

The woman fell backwards onto her back, groaning aloud and holding her aching knee. "You'll pay for that..." She muttered, despite herself. Her surprise was washed away by rage as she scrambled to her feet.

Heaving out breath, the Winter Soldier tried to resume his assault but the distance between them in his crouched position and the lumbering pain in his body slowed as he meant to swing at the witch who promptly dodged the imprecise assault. "So you want to play dirty." The woman used her own strength and punched him across the face, forcing him to his haunches. He raised his head again only to receive a vicious backhand to the face. Blood trickled in his mouth.

"WHAT NOW?!" She yelled down at him then proceeded to spit down on him. "You're done, Soldier..."

He barely registered her as his vision swam and limbs failed him. He felt something worm through his veins. It clotted his blood with heat. He recoiled in pain, tucking his metal arm over his chest, wanting to crawl away from her inhuman stare bearing down at him. Twisting in wild movements, his slender frame automatically dropped to all fours as she seized his long strands, forcing his head back up with a violent yank.

He blinked his eyes, livid and burning with intensity of metallic azure. His rounded pupils changed into diamond slits once the moonlight retracted over his irises. One hiss erupted out of his lips.

"Black cats are symbols of death and shadow. It is said from ancient times that lost souls become trapped in vessels of disheveled creatures." The woman spoke in a sadistic whisper, uncurling her fingers, unveiling a purple stone that glowed against her palm. The Winter Soldier opened his mouth to protest, however, nothing clear escaped from his grimacing lips. All that emitted was a strangled cry of a tortured beast. He choked as he realized that he sounded like a cat.

"No," he managed to with an intermixed sound of a distressed mewl. She was merciless to his agony, and coiled her bony fingers around his thick neck. He had begun to claw at her, hissing and thrashing his body, until she released the hold off his throat.

"This is what happens when you defy the orders that HYDRA has given to you." She said, smirking down at him ruthlessly, the stone glowed as he struggled to push her away from him. "When the change fully comes into effect you will feel pain. That will be only one part of your punishment. That good soldier who tried to save you from us will endure the same cold and dark future."

"That won't happen," The Winter Soldier spat, fuming. His blue eyes darkened as he focused on the stone, the rare gem pulsed with energy. He glared dangerously at her, seething a hot breath through shaving of pointed teeth. He was developing small fangs. Hatred veiled over his face. Defiance burned within the razor depth of his eyes. He became unhinged, untamed and violent. His metal fist battered into the ground as muscles jolted with restrictive pressure under his clothes. He knew that she was making him a captive of something torturous and depraved.

"You're a sick..." His thoughts jumbled. He couldn't muster up the strength finish. Still, he refused to surrender to the enchantment ensnaring over his body. He summoned enough aggressiveness to force his hand into stone as he underwent the horrific ordeal of pain. His tongue suddenly became laden against the roof of his mouth. What caught his fury were the slow and haunting waves of hand from the cruel and yet mysterious woman in front of him.

"Your future will be worse than death, solider."

"I RATHER DIE!" He roared against the thrall of the painful transfiguration jolting through his bones, his deep voice decreasing into the inhuman shrill of an animal, His bones were paralyzed in the pain of transformation as each passing moment reduced him from the man he was...All his thoughts could comprehend was panic setting in, panic that he had long ago pushed away, returning in full force like a regrouped enemy.

His gaze was hard as he staggered inches away from her shadow. "You-you." He couldn't finish as a harsh spasm forced him down to lie on his side, facing the grave. His blue eyes widened with mounting horror as he beheld the black fur covering his deformed right hand that closely resembled a paw. "No…" He managed past his thinning lips that began to contort with the bones of his jaw. Twisting and detaching as a feline muzzle began to form.

"This can't be happening to me." He felt himself thrashing violently, harsh and lament whines escaping his mouth.

He screamed out anguished cries, blood dripped out from the corners of his mouth as the crackling noises of his bones erupted under the layers of his clothes. He was suffocating and his blue irises burned with fever. He dug his gloved fingers into the earth, feeling the pull of his bones as his body mass begun to shrink from normal proportions of his deteriorating limbs. His heart increased and hammered against his chest; organs entwined and hot tears rolled heavily over his broken jaw.

The Winter Soldier knew that was happening to him. His humanity was being stripped away piece by piece from the inside out and there was nothing he could do to fight against it. The sight of his cybertronic arm reshaping into smaller limb made the experience more surreal and horrifying. He wanted to scream in both rage and distress, but his words failed him. A chilling and unnatural calamity began to overtake his body. His face became frozen in a semblance of anguish and irritable grimace. His skin and facial features had begun to stretch and decrease. His skin disappeared within fur enveloping it.

Screaming, he rolled onto his back, his hands dangling in the air as he watched in horror the tiny sliver digits tear through the leather tips of his gloves- claws. He had metal claws emerging from his bionic limb. His hands reshaped and decreased in size. Panting out labored patterns of breath, he groaned and jerked when he felt his skull shrinking, and his ears sharpened into triangle and messed his long strands as they moved to the dome of his head, but not just his ears -a painful tugging sensation over his firm backside drew his attention as he arched his back slightly off the ground, and listened with revulsion as his pants tore and a long black tail snaked out of his pants.

It was a cat's tail. He was becoming a cat. "NO!" he screeched out, his voice dying into a sound of a distressed feline. The pain wormed through his veins, clotting in his blood. He cried out in pain, sucking back a sharp intake of air as if a noose was coiled around his throat. He felt bile flow against his straining stomach and skin inched and grew hot. Despite his pain and suffering, the inkling hope remained inside of him as he focused on a memory of Captain America holding out his hand to grasp his own. It was the amount strength he needed; he had to endure instead of begging for a swift end… Gasping for breath, his blue eyes stared up at the sky as tears blurred his vision. He tasted death. He wanted to grasp that hand again. "Steve," he choked out, blood dripped over fur. He couldn't move as his transcendence of a new life continued. He kept on mumbling out broken words. "I've been such a j***..."

Clothing ripped as exposed muscle quivered against the coldness of the air. His pectoral grew thin and coated with black fur. His limbs remain laden on the ground and decreased into short frontal and hind legs. The metal plates of his arm rejoined with his new body. He hissed in pain and disgust when he chanced a glare at the witch. His voice was a captive in his feline vocals. "I -I..."

"Scream all you want, but nothing will save you," she sneered, watching in mirth as the handsome soldier bellowed out in torment as his body shrunk in horrific intertwines of muscle, bones and screams. James Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The deadliest Soviet assassin...combatant and ageless wraith was disappearing into a body of a stray cat. A small and worthless beast that prowled the streets and searched for a home.

He could see his arms and torso sinking underneath his clothing and his jaw and nose pulled out in painful unison. He closed his eyes to the gruesome sight; his bones throbbed and heart beat lessened. He could smell everything around him. The staleness in the air, the rotting stench of decomposed bodies underneath him and his own blood. His form was no longer tall and manly; instead it was now a slender form of helplessness. A feline.

"There is no escape from death. Accept your fate." She spoke, her tone cold and sordid. They were simply the hallowed words for a witch exercising her will in the form of judge, jury and executioner over her hated enemy. Her teeth gleamed in an evil smile, both smug and sadistic as she watched their transformation complete before her eyes...

At long last, the Winter Soldier felt the last vestiges of his humanity slip away from him as his long hair receded into his shoulder blades...and whiskers popped from his swollen muzzle. 'Steve...I'm sorry.' Were his thoughts as exhaustion and fatigue began to take its toll forcing him into paralysis. The world felt different. He felt different. Smaller... Furry… Weak... Irrelevant… His unchanged blue eyes swam about before taking in the sight of the witch standing over him.

"What have you done to me?" he screamed out.

"I changed you into a vulnerable creature for the dogs of HYDRA to chase." She glared down at where the once feral and intimidating Winter Soldier had been, now sat a black cat. He had three black furred legs, but his left frontal was metal with a tiny red star. The little beast was off-balanced and horrified by the aspects of his life. "I hope you don't waste your nine lives."

He stalked closer to her, and despite the feline nature controlling his actions, he managed to force his humanity up with a daunting voice, "I will find you," he hissed out the vicious warning, looking up at the witch with his blue daggers. "I will kill you," he concluded, before opening his mouth, and picking up his knife in his small jaws. He merely choked on the leather grazing over his rough tongue, but he had to become armed, and his metal claws dug into the earth, feeling the vibrations underneath him.

The witch lowered herself down, smirking darkly at the black cat, "If you can't save yourself, how will your friend, Captain Rogers survive?"

Clenching his jaw, the cat swiped his paw at her. "He will find a way." He hissed indignant, and slashed his claws at her legs, marring her wrinkled flesh as line of blood seeped out. He shifted his intent blue eyes and resumed his gaze on the dead cat. A victim. He noticed two small kittens shivering behind the tombstone. 'Where did they come from?' he thought. It was obvious they had belonged to the dead cat. He couldn't leave them. He had to protect them. "When I change back into a human...I will hunt you down and waste not even a second to put a bullet in you, witch." Then he decided his next action, he scooped the meowing babies up gently with his jaws and quickly stalked passed a headstone.

"Enjoy your nine lives, Winter Soldier," she replied, picking up his tattered pieces of his clothing. He stared intensely at her with enraged blue eyes; she knew his identity, his past and everything. Steve Rogers...The man of the bridge was her next victim. "Don't forget to beg for milk."

Keeping his little tongue pressed on the roof of his mouth, he shot her a piercing stare of extreme hatred, and prowled away from her, and searched for a safe area to keep the clinging kittens out of danger of humans and traffic. "Do what I tell you, kids," he muttered firmly, keeping the female close to his chest, as her tiny head nuzzled against his fur. The male was curled into a ball over his back, purring soundlessly. "...And we might just survive."

Feeling their hearts beat, tiny and content, vibrate through his slender form, the Winter Soldier stalked out of the graveyard, keeping himself elusive and tucked himself underneath a parked car, calculating his next tactic while a harrowing sense of dread crept over him and he realized that he was a ghost, no name, face or voice. Just his pained tears held his broken existence.

The violent gusts of wind lashed around his displaced, compromised body, he ignored it. He wanted to feel nothing.

He was trapped inside a prison of fur, only the blue shimmer of his eyes kept him from wearing the full semblance of a black cat. It was punishment he didn't deserve, HYDRA wanted to bury him in a grave, make him taste death. He aborted his mission and saved a good man that called out his name against the crimson fog of his damaged mind. He could sense that the lifeless cat, he handled was a once a human, a victim of HYDRA who became desecrated by a dark enchantment and sentenced to roam the earth as a cat. As the bitter cold weaved against him and his strength began to fade away.

The man or whoever he once was had vanished and he was barren from humanity and left to fend for not only his life, but two more lives that the soldier inside of him offered to protect.

Curling into a ball, he placed the kittens close to him, stroking their bodies with a flick of his tail. The coldness of his past seemed to have melted away. He closed his eyes to stop the flow of tears.

'Focus on the mission, soldier,' he thought, snapping his head up, and looked down with a protective stare at the shivering fur balls nudging their tiny faces into his side. Whining, the little female, called out for her mother, Bucky lowered his head and rubbed his muzzle over her body, soothing down her cries of distress as he listened for the dangers around them. "I have to find...The man with the shield."

  
  


* * *

ребятишки-kids

ведьма-witch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky felt his insides twisting inhumanity, bones rubbing over the frailty of his condemned body; soul was tangling against the chaos and dread was unraveling within him. Coldness of the midnight air wavered over him, lashing against his ebony fur, making him shift restlessly against the rough, frigid pavement.

The fumes of car exhaust entered his nostrils, as he breathed in the mixtures of scents, human body oils, filth covered rats and decay piling in tight corners of vacant alleyways.

It made his thin stomach churn as he grinding the back of his needle pointed teeth, clenching his muzzle and screwing his eyes shut as headlights of bustling traffic reflected over his distraught form. He mewed out tortured cries, his body contorted in torment; tail swayed with his rapid heartbeats, his coating of sleek fur grew hot and drenched as his mind drowned with feline instincts.

He was a cat. The lanky, black feline opened his mouth and gave a long, mournful cry in memory of his human existence, answered by the kittens' soft meowing and fear as they huddled against him. Alarmed by their affectionate touch, Bucky jerked and hissed out a intimating warning, "Back off," he growled, seething out his acrimony, slashing his right frontal paw in the air and merely sliced the little female with his razor edged claws, almost cutting her back.

She reacted at his outburst and then she wobbled to the sagging tire, shivering into a small ball of fur as she cried shrilly out for her mother.

Aggravated, Bucky eased himself off the pavement; his heart was pumping dangerously fast, igniting into overdrive. The fur on his back stood on its end. His claws retracted and muzzle clenched and unclenched. His breath grew into ragged pants. His whole body shaking. He stalked closer to the tire, trying to regain his humanity as he released strained breath, his lung starving for air.

He was acutely aware of her distress; cautiously he sat down in front of her, looking down at her trembling body shiver under his dark shadow. He sighed, keeping his unnerved pools of crystal blue latched over her. "Look," he began, his mind going blank as his vocal cords were pitching out gravelly and weakened breaths. "I didn't mean to scare you...I'm not use to being a cat. Everything feels very strange for me," he choked out, using a lighter tone in his voice, careful not to scare the kitten.

He lowered himself down, and grabbed her with his metal paw, pulled her close to him, his chest battered against her body. "You two are in need of my protection. I will not abort this mission, you're too young and vulnerable to be left alone on the streets..." he ceased in his words, involuntary cocking his head up, inhaling the vague stench of wet fur in the air, but he couldn't confirm it. The kittens made tiny noises of whimpering-something was out there-something dangerous and posed as a threat to the young felines.

Quickly, Bucky picked up the other kitten, placing him close to the female against the tire. He froze momentary, listening to the hush movement of a predator, he felt each vibration against the padding of his paws, he turned and looked at the kittens, "Don't move," he whispered, methodically stepping away from the undercarriage of the vehicle.

Scanning, he blue eyes sharp against the radiant glow of dingy muted street light caressing over the obscured streets of Washington, he lowered his body into an attacking stance, his belly rubbing over the cement as he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure prowling the umbra of the sidewalk, approaching his position, searching in trash cans and picking up scraps of litter tucked in the cracks. He eyes morphed into wide blackish orbs, blocking out all light, as he stared intently at a mangy, rabid canine, dark fur, grimy and disheveled and massive paws balding with mistreatment.

The dog moved toward the car, its livid dark eyes narrowed and muzzle cracked open to reveal a set of teeth, and drool. He released a deadly snarl, sniffing out the kittens, as he steps were slow and encroaching. Instincts told Bucky that the beast was a danger to the mewing babies, a hunter that would kill them with one fatal bite of its locked jaw.

Without any hesitation pulsing in his veins, Bucky glared spitefully at the dog, his muscles jostled and claws retracted out, he lunged at the dog like a bullet fired from a pistol within seconds, his left metal paw pushing the dog's front leg back, and then he sunk his claws into exposed flesh, making the beast yelp in pain as he puncture the skin.

Blood had seeped out from the slash marks he left during his assault. He hissed out viciously, biting and clawing in a fur ball frenzy, his little body moved against the dog, and he searched for the weak points as his seized his opponent, curled his curl around the muzzle of the snarling canine, sealing the mouth shut, as he clung on upside down, and as livid resentment sharpened his blue eyes into molten steel.

Relenting in pain, the dog fumbled on its hind legs, crashing into the wooden bench, his furry chest scraped and marred with slash marks, and front legs bloodied.

Bucky released his claws, and landed perfectly on his feet, and glared lethally at the battered up canine.

"Leave," he demanded, lashing out his claws,"Or I will not waste a second to kill you, mutt." he hissed out darkly, glowering with a drop of blood sloping down his head.

The dog blanched a quivering step backwards and scrambled away as he cat charged at him once more, when the shadow of the beast faded down the street, Bucky slipped underneath the car, and was instantly greeted by little noses nudging over his fur.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked with concern rattling in his woozy voice.

The female meowed out her response, and nuzzled her body against his chest, purring softly. Bucky rolled his eyes, and stroking his muzzle over her fur, and sighed, feeling a spark of his humanity return, "You're welcome, kid."

 


	3. Chapter 3

His luminous eyes were ghostly hue of azure, foggy ice around his diamond pupils; the moonlight reflected over his silky ebony fur, giving him the appearance of a looming wraith as Bucky stalked closer to the grave site; he felt the coldness of the ground penetrated through his bones. Silently he probed the stone with his paw, digging into the soggy dirt, and he felt numb against the cold breeze wavering over his slender body. His blue eyes darkened with malice as it carved in unison with his twitching and muzzle into a scowl.

"I hate this," Bucky grumbled coldly in disgust, feeling the dampness of the ground absorb against the padding of his paws. "Why?"

His head pounded against the mindless thoughts surging his memory—devouring images of his humanity with instincts of the ebony furred feline he was transformed into by witch's cursive words.

Slowly, he narrowed his hazy blue embers down at the piles of grass—he felt his pink tongue lap against his fur as the staleness in the air engulfed all his senses.

Bucky bent his head disdainfully and he stared with resentment at the grime covered grave and fading and forgotten name of the deceased etched over the granite that shadowed over his vulnerable form— he was a prisoner who had become swallowed up in abyss and isolated from humanity.

The dingy amber-yellow light from the waxen moon became entrapped in the depth of his cat eyes as he stalked closer to the grave, and blanched an alarmingly step backwards from a shard of mirror placed against the stone-the witch left it there remotely to diminish his hope-to butcher his soul and allow him to become an empty of a enslaved and tortured feline. He sat rigidly nostalgically staring at reflection of the sleek animal greeted him in the darkness.

He shuddered, feeling his blood boil and bared his teeth. He unleashed a feral bellow and instantly he felt his small shape recoil back as he studied intently at the semblance he wore—he had the distinct color of his hair— chestnut and his piercing eyes were still the bright, gentle and fierce blue instead of the gold he saw with the other stray cats.

His flat and small muzzle had sprouts of whiskers and his body was skinny with a long tail snaking out of his backside between his hind legs empathizing his cat appearance. Painfully disgusted, he clamped his eyes shut; feeling every fiber of his locked soul tear into pieces as he blew out a dismal sound, "No," he said aloud, his voice hoarse. His throat was constricting, vocal cords restricted. His breathing was getting harder to manage. He felt the tears run astray over his furry face.

He rubbed his metal paw over his muzzle, trying to wipe the tears clean. "This isn't me..."

Bucky frowned at himself, utterly disgusted as he tore his eyes away from the mirror. He scrambled to regain his stubborn vanity, dignity—and his defiant, unbreakable soul. He took another look, solely peering beyond the reflection of the cat and searched for his true self—the lethal and efficient killer. The equalizer who was used like a gun, with HYDRA pulling the trigger with every command.

The Winter Soldier.

He heaved out an abysmal breath, creasing his brow as he stared deeper, refusing to grasp disbelief—refusing the accept the cold, biting truth that he will never become a human again—that he would rot in the prison and endure the pain of feeling his life slip further away in the delirium with each distress meow that escaped from his throat.

Swallowing down his courage, Bucky focused his eyes and stared at the illusion moral soul beneath the animal. There he was, standing in the glass of the mirror—daunting, haunted and strong. His steely eyes were embers of blue fire; his lips were still with the arch of his Cupid's bow breaking the sullen frown and his broad and chiseled jaw strong and hard with a permanent clench in the muscle. His dark and thick, messy hair framed over his menacing face. He looked dangerous as his lips held the darkness of his degraded nature.

"Who am I?" he released a gruff hiss, his throat constricted and pained seared into his heart, but then his stern countenance shifted- his eyes welled with fearfulness as he lowered his head and sulked quietly, nonchalant. "It doesn't matter...No one will remember me anyways..."

He knew his existence was fading deeper inside vessel of the cat—he knew that he was no longer the murderous and elusive assassin-The Winter Soldier-the best marksman, combatant and master of stealth, no, he was a slave to an order-a depressed drone for HYDRA's sick bemusement and he wasn't alone with the inescapable coldness of his fate-the two kittens, weak and helpless were a part of the torturous curse-transfiguration, starvation, death and then the worse of all-slipping further into his new body, losing the weaves of memory, and spending his days prowling the streets, nameless, homeless and lost.

But he wasn't alone.

* * *

The muted orange of streetlamps reflected over brownstone; restless and drained from another disappointing search, Captain Steve Rogers shuffled quietly down the vacant street. He looked disheveled, out of focus on his own thoughts, as his sneaks crunched the rustling the leaves as he strode on the sidewalk, he didn't bother checking the messages on his phone, he was trapped in a shroud of his own despair, allowing the guilt and remorse conceal him from the world, but his determination was valid and strong, he spent three months collecting information of his best friend's inhumane and honorific past.

He spent his nights screaming and tangling under the sheets of his bed, as the haunting nightmarish images consumed his mind until he became feverish with scolding hatred. He was lost in the realms of his tortured mind, feeling the icy prick of remorse encase his bones as thoughts flowed back many years, but with emptiness. He had missed seventy years of his life-stuck in a frozen coffin under the thickness of ice and water, feeling the world move on without him, carrying the marring guilt of Bucky Barne's death.

_"You know...Sometimes I think you like being a punching bag, Rogers," Bucky said, a fond smile tugged at his lips. He gently applied an ice over the bruised cheek. "How many times is this now...Seven...Eight?"_

_"Ten," Steve winced, gritting his teeth. "I had him on the ropes, Buck."_

_Bucky pursed lips up, and shook his head, "Right, just like you had the others on the ropes, huh, Stevie?" he pointed out, and stared at the young golden haired boy, a smug grin on his chiseled face as he wiped off the smears of blood from Steve's bottom, split lip._

_"I never asked to get punched, Buck."_

_"No," Bucky sighed, firmly, "but you big mouth sure doesn't know how to keep shut when you're in the place."_

_Steve lowered his eyes, "I guess that this whole thing is really my fault...I'm strong in my words, but not anywhere else,"_

_"Stop with the dramatics, Steve," Bucky whispered, patting his friend's jaw, "You've got me to clean up the messes you make." he looked down at the other boy with his sincere blue eyes, "And I'm never going to let everything happen to you, punk."_

_He smiled contently at the flash of memory, letting images of a younger Bucky Barnes replay in his troublesome mind as the he walked to the crosswalk and waited for the traffic light to switch green._

Each dead end of Barne's location made him sink deeper into defeat, crashing his bones with the weight of grief; choking him until he became voiceless. Tonight, Steve felt his lowest, watching neighborhood children gather on street corners dressed up at superheroes and monsters. Friends and brothers. Memories.

Sighing deeply, Steve pulled out Bucky's dog tags from a pocket of his jeans, holding the chain and plates of metal up to the glow of light, staring with his intent crystal cobalt eyes at the name and date of birth etched forever, it was the only remainder of Bucky's existence.

_"I can't do this, Bucky,"_

_Bucky smiled, his blue eyes bright with warmth, as he placed his hand firmly on Steve's bony shoulder, "Look at me, Stevie," he spoke calmly, lips never faltered. "I know that you can do this...If you fall...I'm here to pick your skinny ass back up."_

_Steve looked down, his blood was squirming, as he swallowed a knot a fear and stared at the rocky peak. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"_

_"You needed fresh air and plus we never do anything fun," Bucky laughed dryly, smirking with a gentle shimmer in his eyes. "Come on, if you want you can take my hand... You know that I will never let you go, right?"_

_"Yeah, I know." Steve blew out a breath, ruffling his golden tendrils of hair, and reached out his frail hand, and felt his best friend's hand envelope over his own, and with one heave of breath, he climbed the large rock, and stood next to Bucky while saying mutely, "I don't ever want to lose you, Buck." he sniffled, brushing his finger under his nose._

_"Hey," Bucky returned, crouching down low, lifting his chin up, "You're not going to lose me...I'm always going to be right here..." He lightly tapped Steve's chest, careful not the damage the rib bones. He told him with certainly, and wrapped his broad around him, pulling him into a massive, brotherly hug. "We're brother...Stevie Rogers...Stupid and daring. We're always going to be together, because you've got me and I've got you..."_

_Feeling the warmth of Bucky against him, Steve curled his lips into a lopsided smirk, and closed his eyes._

* * *

"I just want you back, Buck," Steve whispered faintly. He felt a surge of pain slice through his heart. And he held the chained necklace close to the firmness of his chest; muscles strained, making his blood churn with liquid heat. He tightened his clutch into a fist.

He tried to breathe, but everything was agony.

Raising his head, Steve leveled his blue eyes to the shafts of moonlight, he spoke with strong declaration in his voice, "I will find you, James Barnes. I promise."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Something was stirring in the air.

Bucky could sense it in his whiskers, something familiar and unknown was beginning to pull him into right direction. His vigil of watching bustling traffic pass by, kept him at impasse at the crosswalk, he had no idea how to protect the dozy kittens nuzzling in between his front paws, his sharp ears twitched to the strange vibrations of rubber from the tires grinding over asphalt. He felt it under his paws. All soon the tranquil sounds would be shattered by the straits of sirens blaring through the main streets, making his back arch up and fur stand on its end as the restless city came alive.

It was only during this hour that he wished that some memories from his haunted and torturous past had been kept, simply because the early hours of morning were the time when he-the Winter Soldier received his directives to terminate targets from roof tops, with pull the trigger of his sniper rifle, firing a untraceable Russian slug beyond the plaster of walls and enter pounding hearts within seconds after being discharges.

His own heart, cold and damaged mourned in grievance for the victims, their faces emerged from the dark cervices of his mind, hands painted with blood grabbing for him from the disturbed earth, trying to drag him down, imprisoned him into a grave and close it shut with chains latched around it.

Deep down, somewhere inside his diminished soul; Bucky wanted redemption and freedom from his nightmarish sins. He wanted to erase everything out of his mind; become reborn into a good man and save lives decided of destroying them. It was nights like this one, he wished for a second chance to live without biting and inescapable coldness of HYDRA pulsing in his veins. Crying, if cats could show pain, he lowered his head in disdain, feeling the kitten's little hearts beating against his black fur. He was aware that they were scared, cold and hungry; their muffled whimpers told him their needs.

They needed their mother.

In this distressed moments, Bucky was resigned to follow his instincts.

Without him the babies would die within days and he would carry that guilt along with every other life HYDRA ordered him to take under the gun. He would be alone to watch another part of his stolen and butchered life fade into myth and legend. He would be forgotten.

But during this dark hour, Bucky felt close to his past than ever before.

Startled, Bucky snapped his ghostly, blue eyes down, and looked at the little female nuzzling her face into the metal plates of his compromised limb, she was purring loudly, eyes closed and muzzle rubbed over the cool alloy. Unnerved, transformed Soviet assassin, scrunched his muzzle, and blew out a frustrated sigh. He didn't know how to react to her needy affection, but he didn't blanched away.

Instead he remained still and ignored her, and he systematically observed his surroundings, checking for any impending danger. When he looked down way, he could see only few cars driving closer to traffic light that reflected a reddish tinge of his ebony pelt. Yet, when he looked in the opposite direction, he was glaring at dark shapes of buildings, looming shadows and fragments of litter twirling in the light gusts of wind.

The area seemed secure enough, to cross the side, he effortlessly lifted the kittens up, with the scuff of their necks, being extra cautious not to puncture his fangs into their fur, as he moved closed to the edge of the sidewalk, stepped down on a metal sewer grate, and advanced to his targeted destination in slow and methodical strides.

He was so determined to cross the street, blue eyes ablaze and locked on the adjacent building, that he didn't release a wad of gum was smudged on the pavement, his metal paw suddenly became glued down, and he couldn't move for a second-all it took was one second to stare at a pair of blinding headlights reflecting into his enlarged black pupils, and he was frozen-the man who had been trained to defy emotions was trapped in fear. The car was driving faster, and he didn't have enough to react. He was going to die. They were going to die.

Shrieking aloud, Bucky jerked his body wildly, heart was pounding rapidly and rib bones pushed against his slender muscle mass, he was stared intently in horror at the car, some idiotic driver revving their engine and stepping on the gas with two girls dressed up was witches laughing and fumbling over the seats-blood had started to turn cold and ears flatted against the back of his skull. Bucky could feel his body moving, but the world seemed to rotate slowly as the car was about to hit the cat dead on. He would a stain of fur and crashed bones on the street.

"NO!"

The tires screeched.

Bucky slammed his eyes shut, and embraced for impact with the front tire. He knew what was coming for him next.

"I got you..."

Suddenly in a flash of light, a pair of large hands scooped him off the ground, huddled his trembling body in lining of a jacket.

Bucky listened to the sound of feet smacking off the slick pavement, his blue eyes sweeping down, as everything blurred in his vision, the kittens were gentled placed in an other hand of his rescuer, and through the frantic thralls erupting in his body, he managed to lift his bewildered gaze up, and stare into deep, and powerful crystal cobalt eyes, they were filled with trust, warm and heartache.

He was surrounded by warmth, shield by resilient heart that pounded against his ears, and enveloped by memories of his past-it seemed surreal for him to even fathom, in despite of everything that he endeared in the short period of time, he finally closed his eyes and purred out a name that drove hope back into his condemned body, "I know you.." He groaned miserably.

"It's okay," Steve whispered in a soft voice, his sharp, chiseled jaw line clenched as he shot an intense, brutal glower at the vehicle speeding past him. Holding the cat in a nest of his arm, he gently placed the female and the male in separate pockets of his jacket. His hand lightly caressed over the drenched fur, easing the tension as Bucky's blue eyes slowly dimmed and his face rested over the sleeve. The super-solider pressed his lips into a weak smile, listening to the cat purr in contentment.

"You're safe with me," Steve assured, stroking his fingers along the cat's back, it had been a long time since he held a stray in his arms, it felt like a lifetime to him. Sighing deeply, he looked at the marred fur and thin railed body, and stiffened his lips into a light grimace. He made his decision in a heartbeat, "You're coming home with me," he whispered, narrowing his cool blue eyes down at the timid kittens. "All of you are coming home."

"Home," Bucky repeated softly, closing his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Under the dim light of the bed side lamp, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and staring at Steve's hand unconsciously run warmth over the mewing kittens drenched and silky bodies, gentle strokes; slowly easing the tension penetrating dully through their small forms.

The little female tilted her head against the super-soldier's broad arm, purring contently, closing her icy blue eyes as she slowly drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Narrowing his head, Bucky looked down at his paws, resentment sizzled in his veins. He snapped his piercing gaze up and stared intently at Steve.

"Who are you?" he whispered lowly; trying to collect the shattered fragments of his damaged past.

After finally scanning his unfamiliar environment with systematic calculating; the ebony furred cat stalked to the pillow, his steps methodical and hushed, as he neared the lump tucked underneath folded blankets, digging his claws into the material, getting closer.

He lowered his slender body near the mount of pillows, his tail swaying and he watched the super-soldier with a foreboding stare. Steve looked so content when he slept; his short golden hair messily ruffled and spiked, his eyelids closed, sealing the stunning, and powerful cobalt irises underneath, but a subdued grimace hung rigidly on his lips. His torso was etched with faint scars of past battles, and his heart beat was strong with each pounding pulse. The rise and fall of Steve's chest matched each breath that ghosted over the soldier's lips. Silence lingered in the darkness of the room.

The black cat froze momentarily; he tried to prod his mind to awareness. It was locked in the tangled weaves of HYDRA.

"I know you," He muffled out with a feeble breath; his blue eyes had grown distant. Swallowing, Bucky opened his tiny muzzle, forcing the solemn words of recollection to escape from his clogged up throat. Everything crackled in his vocal cords, and he fought against the constricting hold that barred his voice and took a released a shakily exhale. His breathing shortened. The sheets rustled underneath his paws as he pulled himself closer and faced Steve, blearily scanning his gaze over a face that haunted him.

_Confusion. He felt the urges of control ripple in his veins; metal pounded violently over a face. Red clouded his vision and blood smeared his lips; anger ignited as he rammed his knuckles into a strong jawline, scarping the skin and leaving his mark on the face of his mission._

_In one fraction of a second, he blinked and chanced a gaze down at the battered face of the man underneath him; staring into hazy cobalt eyes filled with smoldering grief and remorse. He blanched an inch back, his dark brown strands billowing against his marked up face, and intense blue eyes watering as he met the soulful gaze of a friend._

_His heart thudded to a halt in his chest, rage seethed out of him, and his real hand gripped over the star in the center of the soldier's royal blue uniform. His hand was over the other man's heart, and he knew that he wanted to feel the beat; and refused to end the pulse moving with his fingers._

_Tearing his eyes away, he breathed in the sickening aroma of blood, steel and ash. It was a battlefield once again, and he was trapped on the front lines with his captain. Valor entered him, and he held on tight to the uniform, securing his arm over the fading body._

_Breathing in deeply, he just stared, tears filmed in his eyes and memories reemerged. "I...I knew you..."_

_ _

Shaking his head, Bucky looked steadily at the avenger, blank and dazed, and a sullen frown crept over his face, despite the fact that he had remnants of his past glazed across his soulless eyes, dulling and watery into something that swelled with anguish and kept him at an impasse. A blink and a tear drizzled over his sleek fur, drenching over the curve of his muzzle. He couldn't contain his emotions. Another blink, and something triggered in his brain that connected with his penetrating eyes.

Bucky glared at Steve with purpose. A final blink and he drifted out the delirium, inhaling sluggishly, but not staring long at the man, he didn't want to believe in hope at the moment. Hope wasn't his life line to grasp the freedom. He lost all warmth of humanity years before when he went under the ice and became reborn as the Winter Soldier. Instead he eased himself slightly back, and wrenched his eyes away.

"I know you can't understand me...I'm not a human anymore," his voice dragged out with a nonchalant tone, and he hung his head low, clenching his eyelids shut. He whimpered softly, lifting his metal paw up and clamping it over his mouth; trying to stop the discreet mewls of pain he was making. He remembered the torturous experiences in the Red Room that devolved him into a weapon. He sounded broken. "I never was human."

He kept his blue eyes firmly on the slumbering kittens; sensing a familiar and forgotten presence shielding them.

Closing his eyes, Bucky felt his mind drifting back into the void. He became a captive to the glimpses of his past.

He felt the tears escape from his eyes before he attempted to stop them. Images flickered into his mind, gripping him until he could no longer fight the strong hold that locked him into a crevice of his disturbed past, leaving him to stare at the gray light...

_Failure._

_Sickly blood dripped over his temples. The edge of a knife rested on the pulsing skin; tentatively slicing over the compromised wounds and old scars, unleashed more watery maroon._

_Cold hands gripped over his neck; forcing him to witness an unspeakable horror of the mistreatment of humanity. She was beautiful, shacked to a metal chair, her ivory skin marred with crimson droplets escaping from the open wounds. Her long golden-brown hair matted and tangled, full lips a pale color of rose and her eyes-the windows of her defiant soul were darkened with light bruising. She failed her mission and was forced by ill will to withstand a bone numbing torture._

_Bucky stared at her, tears blinding and scolding his eyes, his vision was glued on the surgical tools efficiently placed on the top of a rusted metal cart._

_"Leave her alone!' he roared out his protesting cries, thrashing against the steel bounds latched over his bare and bloodied torso. "It wasn't her fault. She completed her mission."_

_He lifted his trembling flesh hand up, trying to reach for her. "Anna," he yelled breathlessly, shearing his throat with heat._

_She looked at him; vacancy welled in her darkening eyes. He saw no light._

_"She is no longer your concern, boy." A sinister German voice resounded in the encroaching shadows of the room; heavy footsteps echoed against the cement floor. Bucky dropped his gaze and reluctantly stared at a pair of sleek black leather boots, perfectly mounted with both heels touching. A gloved hand stroked over the young woman's quaking shoulder, and yanked the thick ringlets and jerked her head back._

_"She doesn't deserve this!" Bucky managed to gesture his metal hand to disheveled woman sitting laden in the chair. "Make me feel the pain...Not her..." he panted out in heavy breaths; his blue eyes never left her paled face as he watched the lines of blood streak over her full lips._

_The older man gave a small and inhuman laugh for his response._

_"Do you think I really care about her life, asset?" he questioned Bucky, his daunting gray eyes roamed over the beaten soldier. "She is just a mere item that can easily be broken and destroyed with a simple flick of a switch."_

_"No..." Bucky said aloud hoarsely, attempting to break free from his unbreakable restraints. He gritted his teeth; making the blue in his irises turn into a livid white. "I failed the mission...It wasn't her...LET HER GO!"_

_He avoided his captor's gaze._

_"She belongs to HYDRA."_

_Bucky shook his head, "She belongs to no one." he replied, tightness formed in his jaw._

_The older man shrugged. "Human emotions will not be tolerated for HYDRA. I will allow you to watch her scream and then you will be put on ice."_

_He walked over to the defiant soldier, and instantly without any hesitation slapped the young man into the face; blood poured out and dribbled to the floor._

_Bucky strangled out cough as shoulder length strands fell laden into his glistening blue eyes. Red stained his powerful jawline and the curve of his lips was butchered into a taunt grimace. He managed to whisper out the name of the woman that touched his stone cold heart. His partner and anchor out of the mindless tortures, "Anna..."_

_He was forced to watch her jerk in the chair was the electronic shocks ripped through her bones and her screams died with every pulse of induced into her lithe frame. His heart was racing and metal hand clenched until her head dropped to her chest and body became still._

_Fixing his eyes on the distraught and heartbroken young man, the leader placed his gloved hand on Anna's shoulder, and cracked an emphatic smirk over his wrinkled face. "Her body will be put to better use for HYDRA...She will benefit greatly for our future. I will get to hold her heart in my hand." he snarled out coldly, not removing his gaze away from Bucky. He relished watching the young Russian assassin broke down into a whimpering and pathetic sack of flesh and bones._

_Staring deeply at her, Bucky tightened his eyes and allowed the tears to streak over his cheeks, his emotions faltering and heart skipping beats. He felt dead._

_Shortly after he was released from the chamber and left alone with her lifeless body on a medical, he placed his metal hand fondly over her soft cheeks, and looked down at her. He narrowed his head down, resting it on her forehead, feeling the coldness sear his skin and he brushed the warmth of his lips over her mouth, holding a kiss there and letting his emotions pour out of him._

_"I would do anything to have you back," he whispered, his lips quivering over hers, and his tears fell into her long hair._

_He pulled her head close to his chest, encompassing his real hand on her cheek, resting her face over the muscle covering his heart._

_"Can you hear that, Anna?' he spoke in a cracking voice, his eyes closing. "You found my heart and I lost yours..."_

_When he finally broke his last kiss, he vanished into the shadows of winter, leaving her at peace. He didn't turn around; he kept on walking, not sensing a presence cloaking over the body. He didn't hear the words of an incantation ghost over Anna. He didn't watch her beauty fade into a black form of a degraded beast that called out desperately to him, saying the words of truth before she was snatched and taken away._

He jolted awake, clinging to the folds of twisted sheets with his claws stuck into the mattress. Frazzled, Bucky quickly scoped over the room, breathing out frantically. He had nearly fallen off the edge of the bed during his nightmare, his ears rested flat and black fur raised as his rib cages tightened.

He could remember every detail of it. It was during a cold December, a HYDRA base in Russia. He had fallen in love with a young agent named Anna. She never gave him her surname. They were partners for covert missions and KGB snipers; he trained her, broke a few ribs and shared a hidden love affair with her during their missions. A snitch in their operation managed to squeal on their secret and shortly after she was terminated and her remains were unrecoverable. He had forgotten about her, they removed her from his mind and replaced those memories with static.

Lowering his head, Bucky squeezed the tears out of his eyes, not realizing that one of the kittens was snuggled against him.

Alarmed, he turned his head and stared at the little female, purring against his side, brushing her face against his fur.

His nose crinkled as he inhaled the scent wavering off of her small form; a smell that replaced his pain with a sudden comfort. She had the fragrance of Anna on her fur.

"It's okay...I'm here." Bucky whispered, blue eyes gleaming and he rose off the blankets, and lifted her up, using his teeth as hooks to gather the baby fur, and moved to one of the pillows, and gently settled her down, between his paws. He looked at the small lump of fur, and he noticed a brown fur on her head when she tilted her head up and she stared at her with big blue eyes, purring contently.

He nudged her softly with his muzzle, giving her a fast lick with his pink tongue, and then he fixed his protective eyes back on Steve.

* * *

Somewhere within the city, a small black cat sat on the ledge of a fire escape; her amber eyes stared at the streaks of moonlight piercing through the misty clouds. She was restless, alone and grieving. Silently, she wept, searching in the darkness of the alley way for something precious to her.

"James..."

 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Steve awoke from a content dream; no dark circles hung under his crystal blue eyes.

He quickly threw the covers off his muscular body, allowing the crisp fall breeze to ease the feverish heat, and he stretched and rose from the mattress, he sat on the edge of the mattress, closing his eyes and imaging the tears falling over his frozen cheeks that moment he watched the metal rail snap and listened to the echoes of his blood brother screaming to his death.

He wanted to erase all the hurtful torrents of his tormenting nightmares that repeated in his mind over and over again until his heart ached, but it never availed even though he wanted the pain and throbbing to last against his rib cage.

He always felt a constant and condemning reminder of his failures to save Bucky.

Inhaling, deeply, Steve eased his body off the mattress and dragged his feet sluggish across the cold floorboards; the red and light pink of dawn reflected over his chiseled muscles and he pressed the bare planes of his back against the door frame; his intent blue eyes stared at the black cat curled into a ball with the two kittens purring against his slender frame. Blinking the deary fatigue out of his eyes, he furrowed his eyebrows and caught a glimpse of silver gleaming in the shafts of light streaming from the blinds.

He felt something different, a sense of olden peace that rattled through his bones; it almost like Bucky was in the room.

"Where are you, Buck?" he whispered, feeling his heart jerked in his chest. He settled his hand flatly on the door, and clenched his jaw. "Maybe I'm not looking hard enough or maybe you don't want me to find you." he discharged out a pained breath and stared morosely at the stray cat. Steve watched the male breath, listened to a faint purr of distress follow the shivers. The urge to walk over and lift the cat grew strong as his solemn face lowered. Then, the ebony feline cracked his blue eyes open just enough to catch a beam of light. "Good morning," he addressed the cat in a soft and pleasant tone.

Bucky yawned, crinkling his muzzle and revealing his sharp needle point fangs. He arched his back up and stretchered out his paws. He looked up at Steve, glaring at the super-soldier with cold blue eyes, searching for a reason to trust him. When he sensed to danger, the cat eyed Steve suspiciously. "Why are you displaying kindness to me?" he meowed, his voice dry against his throat. "I can sense that you are not danger...but I still don't trust you."

Steve inched closer in tentative steps to the bed, "Do you want some breakfast?"

Bucky blanched back, his muscles jostled. "No," he hissed out stubbornly, scoffing at Steve; despite the fact that his stomach was grumbling for nourishment. He tore his piercing stare away, and continued in an irritable voice, "I don't want your food. I want nothing from you..."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Steve spoke in an unimposing voice, gesturing his hand out. Bucky leaned in forward, cautious and sniff his scent.

Growling up his throat, Bucky pulled himself back, carefully avoiding the kittens slumbering in the folds of sheets behind him. His nose crinkled at the familiar smell; it was strange and yet natural to him. He straightened his posture, tucked his tail against his hind legs and sat down glaring up at Steve. "I know you..." he ceased in his words, roving his eyes around his new surroundings. He mapped out all the exit points in his mind. Instinctively he surveyed over the furnishings of the massive bedroom and the emptiness. It was dull and cold.

"You actually live like this?" the cat spoke in an emotionless tone; he tried to sound human, but all that escaped from his tiny mouth was an annoying meowing noise. He turned back and looked at Steve, feeling disheveled, sensing the despair the super-soldier was hiding.

"I guess they belong to you?" Steve asked, gesturing his hand at the kittens.

Bucky shook his head silently and looked out a Steve with his ghostly blue eyes.

"Do you want some milk?" He offered, trying to develop trust between the stoic cat. "I know the cats back in Brooklyn enjoyed a bowl," a chipper smirk crossed over his lips, "Bucky always hated it when I use to feed the strays ...He never really liked cats that much...Always called them good for nothin' fleabags."

Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Uhh..." Steve hummed in thought for a long moment. "I have a carton of milk in the fridge; I can fix you up a bowl if you like?"

The brainwashed, transformed assassin mutely shook his head. He was unprepared to the compassion Steve gave to him; sulking lightly, he jumped off the bed and slipped underneath the mattress frame. He was surrounded by darkness and dust. It was comforting. That's what it felt to him; mere fragments of memory skimmed through his mind, like splinters of ice falling into snow, confusion kept the rest non-existent. It was only in the moment, when he turned his head and looked at the cluster of dusty and forgotten photo frames that something triggered recollection back into him; and the smoky haze that settled in his mind, dissolved as his metal paw touched brass frame, and slid it out from the pile.

It was old, glass cracked at the edges, but everything seemed intact.

Sighing, Bucky moved his paw over the glass, and stared at the black and white photograph with disdained swelling in him. The photo was a young man, early twenties, with Irish intermixed in his handsome features. He had a strong and broad jaw, thick dark hair that was combed perfectly to one side. His full lips held a mischievous and bright smile. The defining feature was his grayish blue eyes that matched his dark blue winter jacket. The Howling Commando uniform.

Bucky eyes hardened and he whimpered with disbelief as he stared at the image of himself-Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes in bewilderment. He recoiled back, heart started to race and tears leaked from his eyes.

"No..." He cried, struggling to force out his sorrows. He backed away another inch, and kept his watery, lost eyes locked on the photo. "That's me...I'm James Barnes..."

He breathed in the dust, and then darted out of his hiding spot, and moved to the center of the room. His tail swayed angrily and he glared up dangerously at Steve. He dug his claws begrudgingly into the wood, letting the metal scrape.

Steve narrowed his eyes at the enraged cat has he cradled the kittens in the crook of his broad arms.

"So it's true...I'm James Barnes..." The cat meowed back in a strained whine, staring up at Steve with sadness and remorse welled painfully in his daunting blue eyes.

He knew that Steve couldn't understand him. Deep in the pit of his vacant stomach, Bucky figured out that he had to find a try a different way to reach his best friend.

"Steve...Help me?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey," Bucky hissed out wildly, his dark pupils became slits in the stormy blue of his eyes. He felt tension claw it's away from his churning stomach and beating heart. His tail swayed against the floor violently, and ears spaced out as he seethed his anger at Steve.

"Are you even listening to me?" he fixed his murderous glower on the unmade bed. He wanted to protest, fight and run away. It was in his nature to disappear before his emotions were revealed. Instead, he grumbled under his breath, and kept a sudden absolute stillness to his shivering body. He lightly hissed as the cold bite of the unrelenting truth surged in his bones, penetrating deep into the marrow. His metallic paw screeched against the wood, and he felt the urge of attack.

He moved his eyes systematically, around the dim shadows of the bedroom, trying to gather the shattered and disjointed fragments of memory, which wasn't easy for him since waves of hazardous static pulse against his skull.

Discovering, that he was James Buchanan Barnes wasn't a simple thing to grasp, not when blood stained his ledger. It was unsettling to felt like he had been carrying out his missions as a mindless husk, allowing HYDRA to devour his soul and turn him rabid.

It was condemning, inhumane and wrenching to know that he wasted most of his vitality in a body of an abomination created by Armin Zola. He didn't want to have all his emotions pour out of him, he felt shell shocked and degraded as his harden gaze roved over the long, skinny attachment that slithered from his backside. He had experience horrors in the Red Room, subornation, injections, combat training and ice baths. Each one was still etched on his bones, seeping into his cold veins.

"You're a real piece of work," Bucky dejected out with a shaky breath, he turned around and stalked over to a chair, looking at the royal blue uniform and helmet. His paw encompassed over the material, and he tried to use his fangs to drag the uniform to the floor. He cocked his head up and looked intently at the golden haired super-soldier with a dismal gleam in his intense blue eyes.

"Now, listen up, Steve Rogers...or whoever you are...I think it's Steve..." he cleared his throat and stiffened his muzzle.

His voice became incredulous and his eyes obscured with hardened remorse. "I'm not a stupid alley cat...I'm a skilled and dangerous assassin and if you stand in my way...I will kill you." He discharged out, darkly, swallowing any weakness that had threatened to escape from his throat.

Glancing down at the talkative feline; Steve furrowed his eyebrows, confusion became written on his chiseled face. His blue eyes creased into slits. The cat stared at him, perturbed by the sudden veil of sadness hooding over the crystal irises.

"What's wrong with you?"

Bucky felt his body was flailing from a defense stance. "James Barnes? That's my name isn't it?" He asked bluntly; his face vacant from expression and blue eyes unnerved.

"I'm the soldier in that picture? You're my friend...Steve Rogers?" he whispered lifting his teary eyes to Steve-the sickly boy who'd admired him as a big and protective brother back in Brooklyn-back when they still had dreams instead of nightmares. He stared deep and hard. The gentle blue eyes that were once filled with warm and hope had faded into a murky gray of grief. He bowed his head, and clenched his eyes shut. "The old hag said that a true friend will save me...change me back into a man. How can you save me...You don't even know who I am?"

Sensing the cat's distress, Steve crouched down to his knees, and held out his hand. "I know you feel like you can't trust me, but if you don't eat you'll die." he spoke grimly, trying to reach out to the stubborn animal. "Please, let me help you?"

Bucky tilted his head upwards; he moved cautiously to the massive hand, his nose twitched as he kept his distance, and then he stepped an inch closer. When he felt the warmth caress over his silky fur, he arched his back and purred soundlessly, stroking his body against Steve's rough palm.

"There you go, pal. You're a stubborn cat," Steve chuckled rather in melancholic tone, his fingers brushed tentatively over the short ebony fur. "I think you need a name?" he said, narrowing his eyes down at the purring cat.

The transformed Winter Soldier shook his head slowly, refusing to have a name. "I don't deserve a name. Just call the kids whatever you want and leave me nameless..." he rebuffed in disdain, and then wandered back to the bed, crawling underneath the cascade of blankets and he glanced down at the photograph again and used his claws to latch over the frame, dragging it across the floor and back into the sunlight. He meowed aloud, lulling Steve to look his way, and placed his paw on the glass encased over the image of himself.

Perplexed, Steve furrowed his eyebrows and involuntarily stared down at the photograph of his best friend with intent blue eyes. "Where did you find that?" he asked his breath shuttering as he wrenched his gaze away, and clenched his jaw heavily.

The super-soldier eased himself off the floor, and advanced closer to the bedside, with a sullen expression written over his face. He crouched down next to the cat, settling the kittens to the floor, and moved his hand shakily to the frame.

"His name is James Buchanan Barnes," he choked out thinking it was utterly ridiculously conversing with an animal that gave humans cold and searing glares. For some reason, he felt comfortable talking to the cat. His heart begun to tighten against his rib cage. A few tears ran steadily down his cheeks and dropped over the photo frame. "Bucky was my best friend -a blood brother who always had been there for me ...watching my back and showing me the ropes. We made a promise-that no matter what happened we would be there for each other until the end of the line..." he halted in his words, feeling little throbs penetrate inside his heart.

The cat's ears straightened up as Steve's broken voice resounded in his heart, "...until the end of the line?" he whispered sadly to himself, struggling to swallow the saliva mixed with fur that coated over his tongue. He opened his mouth, but all he could muster up from the depths of his throat was a tortured whine. He never felt too pathetic, useless and imprisoned.

He held his eye contact on Steve, his heart beating once, then twice. He looked away, and jumped unceremoniously onto the bed, turning his back on Steve. His ghostly blue chasms fell on the window pane. Lowering himself down, he crossed his paws close to his narrowed chest, feeling the sickening and heart-wrenching memories lure him back into a void.

_"When are you gonna to quit... Acting like you've got nothin' left to lose?"_

_Steve sagged and swiped his frail hand underneath his pointed nose, smearing the warm maroon over the arch of his lips. "I wasn't planning on running, Buck."_

_Bucky felt his lips stiffened, shaking his head. Looking at the bruise coloring over his friend's ashen skin, he sauntered around the corner of the alley smugly, with a rigid smirk on his chiseled face whilst and gazing down at Steve lying on the ground covered up in dirt and blood. Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled the ashy smoke, and then he stepped closer to the golden haired teenager. He didn't say anything. He held out his hand and picked Steve up and slung a broad arm over the other boy's bony shoulders, carrying him out of the vacant alley and away to safety._

_Steve sniffled, tasting the drops of blood roll over his lips, "One day Buck, I will make those jerks run from me..." he gritted his teeth, staining his friend's shirt with red as he added, "...I will teach them not to mess with the little guy."_

_"Oh really, Stevie," Bucky grinned, his steel blue eyes lightened as he jerked Steve warmly against his side. "How are you planning to put those guys on the ropes? You're a shrimp," he digressed, pressing his lips tight. Steve leveled a hard glare at him._

_"Okay, I'll admit that was harsh. What I'm tryin' to say punk, is that you don't need to prove your strength...You're already strong." He pressed his finger carefully into Steve's chest. "A little stupid...but strong." he said with a cheeky smile, trying to brighten his glum friend up._

_ _

_Steve shook his head, curving his lips into his boyish lopsided smirk, and exhaled, "Bucky are you drunk?"_

_"Not yet I am not," Bucky replied with an indignant and gruff voice, still smirking._

Bucky slowly revolved his head, and stared up at his lifelong friend "I never meant to do those things to you, Steve," he confessed in a troubled voice, and frowned to himself. "If I am the real Bucky Barnes..." he allowed his voice to amass in the air, and hung his head low before concluding. "I don't deserve to have you has my friend. Not after what I did to you."

He shuffled his feline body to the edge of the bed, preparing to jump, the cursive words of HYDRA reemerged in his skull, pounding and making him feel dizzy. He needed to run. Shifting his gaze to the window, he found his exit and made a graceful jump off the mattress, only to be secured in Steve's arms. He "No..." hé hisse, but hé wasp rowing wear. "Steve...Forget about me..."

Steve moved his fingers along the cat's tensed back, "Bucky," he said with a crackling voice, tears pricked his eyes, as he glanced at the cat trembling against his chest. His heart swelled as he watched the cat open his glacial blue orbs and noticed a faint streak of brown in between the ears.

It wasn't until he stared at the left frontal limb of the animal, and he discovered the tiny crimson star painted on the metal plates. Something felt familiar about this stray. "Your name is now Bucky. And you do have a home..."

 


	8. Chapter 8

In was almost reaching the midnight hour, when Steve returned from StarkTower, stripping his black shirt up and throwing it into the closet. He didn't bother flicking on the lights, he moved closer to the bed nostically staring at the black cat curled into a ball in the folds of sheets. A frail hint of a grimace veiled over his lips, and shifted his gaze to the window, staring intently at the white circle in the darkened sky, looming over skyscrapers It was a giant canvas, the lights and black slate matched every shade of the darkness, a thousand jewels clustered into obscured shapes.

Feeling the dull ache arise in his chest, Steve tore his crystal blue embers away from the window, trying to look for something to help him avoid from slipping back into the void. His mind wandered elsewhere. He was entering the cervices of his memory pools, reaching an impasse of realm that held olden images of Bucky smiling and laughing next to him, and teasing him about his spangled suit. Those were good memories to hold onto, and never allow to stray away in tears that rolled down his sharp cheekbones, and reminded him that he had failed his blood brother. His family and the person he had missed for seventy years in the ice chasms.

* * *

  _"I bet I can get you smile, Stevie," Bucky jeered, standing to his best friend. His face was scruffy. He brown hair slicked back off his forehead and light blue eyes shining with brotherly love. He curved the edges of his full lips into a mischievous smirk, and then turned to look at Steve who was standing all regal and serious for the reel camera. "You know little Stevie was always the punk the fat Dalantey kids loved picking on, he used to come to my ma's house all bloodied and ugly with bruises, but for some damn reason, he was always okay to smile."_

_Bucky reached out a hand and grasped Steve's shoulder, firmly, "So yeah, this super soldier or whatever you guys call him, smiles through his pain. He looked at the young captain with an sincere gleam in his eyes. "No matter how much the big guys have him on the ropes...He will always find a away to crack a smile."  And then, with a faint chuckle escaping his lips, he listened to Steve laugh and watched him smile for the camera. "To you folks back home, this here is my best friend ...Sometimes he acts stupid, but he has a big heart and I will never replace that for anything."_

_"Do you know how ridiculous you sound, Buck?" Steve grinned, laughing hearty. His eyes squinted as both of them suddenly entered a frenzy of laughter.  
_

_"I least I'm wearing the American flag, Rogers," Bucky retorted back, dropping his head, and trying to contain his laughter. "I'll admit it's a good look for you..."_

_Steve nodded, "Yeah," he chuckled, "I'm glad you think so, because I got a spare for you to try on, Buck."_

_"Oh, joy, that will make us the star-spangled twins..."_

_Steve smiled. He couldn't help it._

* * *

 The memory had lulled him back into a dream- like state of the contentment he needed. A stifle of a smile tugged over his lips, as he allowed laughter to replay in his mind for a long moment of repeats.

He remembered how Bucky sometimes snorted when he laughed, still keeping a smug smirk on his chiseled face whilst he had been standing near SSR homebase all sweaty and uniform torn. Barnes had placed his caring hand on his shoulder looking deeply in his eyes with a proud gleam sparkling in his light blue irises, smiling like an idiot and easing the tension of the war around them. That had been the day he liberated the 107th soldiers from Zola's inhumane work camps--he was one who broke the restraints off of  an incoherent and captured Bucky Barnes, and guided him to safety. 

Everything crumbled into pieces as soon as he remembered the halcyon days, images he tried to erase, the horrors on battlefields with young men, noble in spirit lying on the soggy ground with their faces permanently frozen after bullets penetrated through their hearts. Destruction and smoldering remnants of buildings, crossfires of enemy shells flickering in the darkened sky, lightening up the front lines.

War became a suicide mission. It was selling your own soul, and allowing humanity to slip away. At first there was unbreakable valor and defiance etched on the hearts of young man in uniform. After a few treks across the barren wreckage of No Man's Land, crawling underneath barb wire, and listening to the deafening aftershocks of Tiger I tanks unleash their fury and destruction over the vacant landscape of invaded country sides and small towns.

The world around them became a dark and unforgiving. Coldness entered through their bones, hope dwindled when hearts of friends and blood brothers were filled with lead and the landscape with painted with spilled blood that departed from the good men of honor.

The restless ground carried the blood of the fallen, allowing each drop to travel through the fields. The smell of death hung in the air like a thick mist over a bog, a constant reminder of the cost of victory and defeat. There was no escape from the inevitable. No sense of reason and no hope to fight for when the bullets cut through the glades like knives.

Sounds of fighter planes, heavy allied bombers of the RAF crashing, men screaming out for their mother's names and souls fading were the daily knells to wake up to during the morning hours. 

He couldn't block out the hardened truth of the grievances war engraved onto his heart.

_His marred hand was just out of reach, a mere few centimeters away. All he needed was a heartbeat to give him strength to make it before...Metal screeched and broke off the hinges._

_Bucky plummeted in a second of a glance. Time froze and tears readied to flow as a cry escaped Steve's lips. His friend disappeared into a snowy valley below with a bloodcurdling scream of fear and horror._

_His heart thudded to a halt and then dropped._

_The world around him shattered and faded into whiteness._

Gasping for heavy intakes of air, Steve felt his stomach clench and his pounding heart tightening his chest, his breathing ceased to exist in his lungs, and his knees gave up, crashing to the hardwood. He lowered his face into his large warm hands; covering up his eyes and digging his fingers into his forehead. He tried to erase the horrific image of his best friend falling off the train from his train, but the memory was persistent and potent, and wouldn't give him a modicum of peace. Over and over, the scene played itself in his head. He gritted his teeth, hard enough to make his gums tingle with numbness, wishing that everything would all just stop. He wanted to delete the memories out of his mind forever, the guilt of his failure and cowardice. The memories and the feelings stayed, torturing him incessantly.

That ear shattering cry as Bucky fell haunted him in the depths of his subconscious and there was no one there to put a hand on his shoulder, nothing to distract him from his nightmares. That was his punishment, to mourn for his friend alone in the darkness, and living with that heaviness of grief encased over his broken heart. It was a feeling of anguish, and almost like he had his soul ripped in half. He felt torn and undone.

Too many nights he had woken up bathed in sickening sweat, trembling and weeping with his pillow drenched with salty tears. He would always have to flick on the light and read case files from SHIELD. It was the only way to block out the images from his harrowed mind. He would get up before the crack of dawn and jog, allowing the cold wind to whip over his face and freeze the tears pricking in his blue eyes.

_You're my mission._

Steve removed his hands, slowly off his face, feeling the moisture of his sorrow gather in his cobalt irises, and staring bleary at the alloy shield leaned up against the dresser.

It was the last thing Bucky held before the train car door exploded open and sucked him out into the frigid air.

_You're my mission._

"No..." He screamed aloud and broken, trying to settle the tempest surging in his mind. His throat clogged up, and it felt like constricting of the walls of his raw throat was choking him, breathing was getting harder and straining to manage. "BUCKY!"

He pounded his fists into the wood, like he was trying to break the boards with his strong, forceful hands.

He knew he startled the cat, but held no regard for the cat's feelings. After all the years of holding in his pain and carrying on, he wanted to release some of the ever-present guilt and grief. His friend was dead. There was no more Bucky Barnes.

After all those heart numbing years of spending his days wishing to have him back, he was just a ghost of the young soldier and Brooklyn kid he used to be before Zola transformed and butchered him into the ruthless assassin programmed for restless attack. A cold hearted killer, nameless and lost behind the semblance of a monster.

"I'm sorry, Buck," he sobbed, no longer able to hold in his pain, he couldn't forbid his dejection to be unobstructed out of him.

* * *

Hearing the measure of Steve's despondent words, Bucky's eyes snapped open, hazed and confused in the darkness. The piercing blue irises were a devoid of olden pain and understanding, and a harboring sense of recognition.

Within a second later, he jumped quickly off the bed and stalked closer to Steve, cautious. Steve was still trapped in his delusions, his face hardened with anger and eyes livid and filmed with smoldering tears. He couldn't tolerate the pain any longer, everything had been pouring out of him and he barely settled his watery gaze at the moving dark shape careening towards him. The black cat. The stray he saved from becoming a smear of ebony fur on the street.

"Steve," Bucky meowed, low, but enough to get the super-soldier's attention. Metal paw lifted and ears flattened aback.

Resting his forehead over his knee, Steve cried into the denim of his jeans, his lips tightened into an expression of anguish. "I just want you back, Buck." he sniffled pressing the bridge of his nose into the hardness of muscle. "The real you-Not that killing machine." he said adamantly, biting on his lower lip. He knew it was his fault. Bucky's death and resurrection was his greatest failure, and he would own that like everything else.

He needed to become strong again, to not allow defeat shackle him from his duties of protecting the world. It's not what Barnes' would have wanted. "You were always there for me-No matter how much I put you through, you never left my side. I failed you. If only I let go and made the jump. We would have come back home...Back to Brooklyn." He mewled out another weak sob.

Suddenly, Bucky felt his heart thud to a halt in his chest. He brought his paw to Steve's leg, and held it firmly on the drenched and constricting denim.

"I am here, Stevie," he slowly lifted his icy blue eyes, intently watching Steve's heated and sharp cheeks glisten with tears. "I'm here, well, maybe not what you expected...It's me in this stupid cat body." he choked out, feeling warmth of his own tears leak from his feline eyes. "I will always be your friend...I know who am I now, Steve. I know my name and a few other things." His voice was a little hiss. "I am figuring out what those HYDRA jerks have done to me. Why I'm...A cat."

Steve wiped the tears that rolled effortlessly down his face and dripped off his lips. He pulled his knees up to his chest, shifting a gaze at the cat and reached out a hand. At first Bucky reacted his claws, defensively, but then he allowed his friend to scoop him up from under his tensed belly.

"Just watch the ribs, Cap," he warned, familiarity now rose in his voice. He felt Steve cradle him in the nest of his strong biceps. "Steve...I know you can't understand me, but I just want you to know that I've missed you so much." It felt right for him to say that to the super-soldier.

Steve narrowed his eyes, listening to the cat softly purr. He didn't want to disturb the animal, he tried to breath, but everything hurt. Keeping his gaze settled on the ball of fur, he felt the sense of a friend brush over his bones, and he cried. His tears landed into Bucky's silky fur as they both closed their eyes, allowing the pain seep out the wounds they kept hidden from view.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve flipped to another page in the old album and sighed for what felt like the hundredth time since he began going through the pictures. He was stretched out on his bed, as he had been for more than an hour, looking over some of the only tangible memories he had of his friends. One in particular was on his mind.

These photo albums had been made to honor all of the Howling Commandos, but since Bucky had been such a central figure in the group, he appeared in many different pictures. Steve gazed longingly at a shot of himself standing with Bucky after a long mission. Both of them were absolutely filthy and even slightly wounded, but they were smiling brightly. Steve remembered that day; after a week of terrible travel, Bucky had cheered him up with friendly mud fight. That cocky jerk could always find some way of making everything alright.

A tear leaked from the Captain's eyes and he brushed it away quickly and moved to the next page. Each picture was a precious piece of time, and although it hurt Steve's heart to look at them, it was also somehow healing. If only he could have Bucky again.

_"So let me get this straight, Stevie," Bucky teased, taking another swig from his canteen blatantly, ignorant to the biting cold marching over his chiseled face. He was leaning against a wall, his whole body sagged and exhausted. His blue eyes held a intense stare on his best friend sitting attentively upright in a wooden chair, his broad arms folded over his uniformed chest, struggling with the amount of muscle mass constricting against his pectorals. He wasn't used to having a hulking body of a modern gladiator. They were sitting in a safe farm house, alone in the dim flickers of waxen candlelight, the canvas of winter became a contrast of light and darkness as flecks of snow start to fall from the thick clouds hovering above the desolated fields surrounding the property. Their weapons were armed, , senses on high alert and spirits defiant. Bucky felt his lips twitch upward into a a faint simper as he kept his eyes latched on Steve. "You enlisted shortly after I took those dames dancing at the pier?"_

_Steve shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly "That was only the half of it, Buck." he answered, looking up at his dumbfounded friend. "After I was enlisted things at first didn't go so well-I was pathetic during training, but I showed them that it wasn't about strength and muscle to fight in a war, it was about having the guts to fight for something to believe in. That is freedom, Buck." he said firmly, his crystal blue eyes glint in the shadows cloaking over his commanding features._

_Listening to the measure of Steve's words, Bucky felt his heart seize into his chest, he turned his head, and watch the snow cascade blankly over the looming trees outside. He flicked his eyes down, frowning to himself. "I told you not to follow me here, Steve." he said, his deep voice, low and haunted. "You always think that you've got something to prove...That you're trying to show the world that Steve Rogers can be a good soldier." He pressed his lips into a tight line, and clenched his hands to his sides. "You know after I left Brooklyn...I sometimes dreamed that when I returned home I would find your grave and you were gone because I wasn't there for you..." he choked out, and then an onslaught of emotions broke over his face._

_"Bucky, you have always been there for me, you don't need too, " Steve narrowed his eyes for a long moment, and then he got up slowly from the table as he registered the pain hidden beyond the dark haired soldier's pale blue eyes. He felt a heaviness press into his chest, as he extended out his hand, gripping Bucky's tensed shoulder. "You don't need too ever think that you've failed me. You have always been there during the worse and best of times...I thank you for that, Bucky Barnes. Without you watching my back ...There would be no Steve Rogers-No Captain America."_

_"My folks wanted to adopt you after your Ma died, we could have been brothers," Bucky responded, his voice a trembling at the constant and tearing sensation in his chest. He looked distraught and languished like he had been wounded, not moving just standing stoic and waiting for tears to roll down his face. "Now I see we have always been brothers..." He placed his gloved hand over Steve's sturdy armored shoulder. "I will never stop protecting you...I will always be your big and stupid brother."_

Steve clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes. Why hadn't he caught Bucky's arm in time? Why did his brother have to fall? Steve felt a burden of guilt on his chest as he thought of all the horrors his friend had endured at the hands of Hydra. All of them could have been prevented if only he had stretched out his arm just a little farther.

"Bucky," he sobbed, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Steve wished more than anything that he could pour out his sorrow to his friend face to face. But with the Winter Soldier proving even more elusive than Cap had feared, Steve found himself becoming weary of the chase. He had sworn to pursue Bucky until his strength failed him, but what about after?

Steve's ponderings were interrupted when he felt the bed beneath him move. Turning his gaze, he saw that the black cat had gracefully jumped onto the mattress next to him. Somehow the feline's presence was soothing, almost like the company of a good friend. Rogers smiled and reached out to stroke the cat.

"In a way, you're like your namesake, Bucky," Steve said to the cat as he scratched its shoulders. "You're a good listener and a good comforter."

"No I'm not," Bucky hissed, mashing his needle-point fangs into his furry lips. He felt the pressure of Steve's hand push against his arched shoulder blades. He offered no resistance, submitting to faint awareness. He listened to the gravity in Steve's words, each breath had become emblazon in his ears, and his blue eyes darkened ever so slightly, trying to make mental calculations and how much blood volume was flowing in his raging his veins and coursing immensely through his system, but his paws had started to tremor, and the impulse to lash out an attack faded when he spared a glance into his friend's solemn blue eyes, the same color that made the red flashes vanish from his foggy vision.

As he felt his heart resettle in his chest, he decided to speak once again, but his voice seemed clogged and throat raw as air reached his lungs. The surface of his wounds didn't boil or hiss as he breathed, and he wasn't hesitant when he stared up at Steve. Those were good indications that his mind had grown stable enough for his to function without his hostile nature, he stared up passively at the super-soldier with resentment, his muzzle twitched slightly into a scowl as he kept his paws latched on the covers. His face looked withdrawn, ebony fur disheveled and ears flattened against his head. He nudged against Steve's arm purring with despondence ragging up his throat. "I'm not a good friend, Steve." he meowed, trying to jar Steve's attention.

The cat's meowing almost seemed too systematic to be random noises, but Steve couldn't place why. In fact, it almost seemed like the poor feline was issuing a lament. Steve continued to stroke the cat, letting a long sigh escape his lips. A tiny noise made him look to the part of the room where the kittens were nuzzled together. It appeared that they were waking up, and Steve wondered if they were hungry.

"I bet you guys could use some food," he said aloud, glancing back at the adult cat near his side. "Does milk sound good?"

Steve stood from the bed and walked across the cool floor to his refrigerator. Inside was a partially full carton of milk, and he placed it on the counter, looking at the black cat in his peripheral vision. It had hopped down from the bed and was stalking cautiously towards him. He smiled and talked to the feline as he located a saucer.

"Where did you and your little companions come from, anyway?" he asked, pouring the milk into the small bowl. He set it onto the hard ground near the kittens and then drew out a glass for himself. When his cup of milk was ready, he put away the jug and settled on the floor, crossing his legs and staring at the tiny kittens as they began to move.

The little female wobbled on her soft paws closer to the super-soldier. Her nose twitched as she caught a vague whiff of milk, but she froze in mid-step, timid and unsure whether to approach Steve as her emptied stomach growled, making her back arch up slightly. She meowed, but it sounded like a cry of distress, and her ears flattened all the while her ghostly sapphire eyes took in the unfamiliar surrounding. She needed her mother, and it in her instincts to meow for assistance, she and her twin brother was only a few weeks old, the rest of the litter didn't survive from birth, and without Bucky as her protector she would have died from starvation. Instead of approaching the bowl, she lowered her body, placing both of her frontal paws together and locked her eyes back at Steve.

"A little skittish, I suppose," Steve mumbled under his breath.

He pressed his hands against the floor and scooted a few feet backward, giving the kittens an unhindered path to the milk. He cast a sidelong glance at the black cat, wondering whether it would come to drink or not. If the kittens would not eat on their own, perhaps their guardian would persuade them. Steve knew by their size that the babies surely required frequent meals, and he hoped that the event in the street had not traumatized them.

Steve took a long drink of the cool milk in his glass and wiped the remains from his lips. He set the cup down, and then saw that the adult was indeed coming over to the kittens and the saucer set out for them. Steve, who noticed small details as a habit, had marveled at the grace with which cats carry themselves, but this strange feline seemed even more meticulous as it stalked across the apartment. Its sharp, perceptive eyes scanned the area, picking up all movement and assessing any sign of danger. The animal's manner was as precise as that of highly trained agent, or perhaps even more accurate than that.

Steve slowly stood up from his place and walked to the table where a pad of paper and pencil lay, having been left there a few days ago. Returning to a sitting position on the floor, Steve studied the graceful animals before him and began to sketch a drawing of them. Drawing had always helped him relieve stress during the War, and since he had awakened from the ice, he had found the cure no less apt.

The drawing slowly took form as the cats went about their meal. As Steve had hoped, the oldest feline slowly made its way to the saucer and coaxed the kittens to drink. Steve smiled at the scene before him, adding shadow and detail with his skilled pencil. When his picture was finished, he stood from his place and set the pad of paper back on the table. Turning around, he looked at the black feline and frowned.

"I suppose you could do with some meat," he said, walking over to the fridge.

He wasn't sure what kind of meat a cat would like, but he figured that pretty much anything would do, especially for a hungry stray. He foraged through the drawers and at last found some turkey lunch meat. He put the container on the counter and took out a knife, cutting the food into small, bite-size pieces. He set these on a plate and lowered it to the floor.

Steve clicked his tongue, attracting the attention of the black cat. "Want some more lunch?" he asked gently.

The imploring words lulled Bucky to cock his head up, "I'm not eating that," he scoffed or rather hissed, arching his back with disgust. "Why do you care about my life?" he questioned, retracting his claws out from his furry digits. He honestly didn't understand. He hated the very thought of the total amount of lives he destroyed while under the influence of HYDRA's control. It was a sicking sense to feel so much guilt, to carry pain and fight against replays of nightmares consuming his disjointed mind. It made his stomach clench and churn. He hated the thought of killing another innocent without reason, and most of all he hated feeling the weight of his sin dragging his soul even further into the pit of his self-damnation. If he could reset time, turn back the clocks and reenter his past, he would have found away to prevent Zola from saving his wounded body from severe hypothermia-he would have died a honorable man and a good friend. He would have spared so many lives if he didn't been resurrected on the operating table.

"I don't deserve this from you, Steve," Bucky lowered his head, and felt a dull pang in his chest, praying that somehow the super-soldier would hear his broken voice carried with hardened disdain. "You're a good friend...And I'm a monster."

Perhaps it was indeed that Bucky's prayer was heard and answered, or maybe it there was another, unknown force at work in the situation. No matter what the cause, it now happened that what had once been incoherent meows coming from the black cat's mouth were now heard by Steve as real, English words. Bucky also noticed the change at once, but for him it was not nearly as shocking as it was for his friend.

Steve started up quickly and looked warily around the apartment, trying to find the real source of the voice. His senses had of course told him that the cat had spoken, but his reason had just as quickly dismissed such an idea and fumbled for another option. All he could assume was that there was an intruder in the room, one who sounding remarkably like Bucky.

Steve slowly edged to the wall where his shield was propped up, and when he was within range, he leapt towards it, grabbing it from its place and preparing for an attack. None came. He scanned every crevice of the premises, but he could find no one; nothing was even out of place.

"Who's there?" he asked in an authoritative voice.

He chanced a glance at the cat, a part of him still partially believing that it had been the one to speak. Looking at it now and being sure that it was truly just an animal, he wondered how he could have been so easily misled by his usually keen ears. Just as he turned his gaze elsewhere, the cat spoke again.

"Wait," Bucky drew out a sharp breath, off balanced on his four paws, unsure if Steve visually heard his voice. He understood human emotions, and the kind of grief one carries that piled on their shoulders when they left nothing left to fight for, but he never had to deal with this moment as barriers had been broken the moment he gazed longingly into Steve's gentle, and yet guarded blue eyes. It felt like a method of interrogation he had acquired back in the Red Room-target acquisition meant termination,or at the very least handing oneself to the interrogator for punishment. It had been his lifestyle for nearly a decade, and he was immune to pain in any form-not compassion or friendship. Silence has always been his refuge , but now he was reaching an impasse of emotions and urges to kill. Inside his transformed body, Bucky felt his chagrin threatening to seep out, but he stood his ground, firmly and unyielding and leveled an insurable glare at Steve.

Russian didn't roll off his sand paper-like tongue-it faded in his throat. During his training in the Soviet underground, his teachers only took the time to teach him the rudiments of the language, small and authoritative words when commanding his operatives when in reconnaissance, but now his voice changed into rich, brash and America-it came out clearly when he spoke, even though his mind is still programmed to issue out in Russian. The transformation gave him back his old voice-the hearty Brooklyn tone with a slur of Irish. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak once more, without the low purring noise of a feline. It wasn't as difficult not like it was a few days before-maybe his humanity was slowly returning to him. He had to take a chance.

"Don't freak out, punk...I mean Steve." He jumped gracefully on the chair, and then climbed onto the counter staring at the dumbfounded captain. "I know it's hard for you to understand this, but you need to shut up and listen."

Steve's mouth went dry and his jaw hung open. He didn't know what to think or how to respond. The cat was talking. What other explanation could there be? No one said the cat was real, but it definitely was talking. Steve had never heard of robotic animals, but he supposed that someone might have invented them by now. If computers could fit into one's pocket these days, what were the limits?

However insane and suspicious the situation was, Steve could not completely rule out the possibility that this cat was somehow connected with Bucky, and so he did as the cat said. He shut up and listened. He could not risk hurting Bucky, even if the chances of this feline really being in any way connected with his friend were slim at best.

"That's better," the black cat said with a bite in his gravelly voice. He sat on the steel counter top, long tail swaying and pupils darkened as he held Steve's visage in his daunting gaze.. "I'm not some stupid house cat if that's what you think...I'm happen to be a remorseful and dangerous assassin who crossed paths with an old hag and somehow I became this fleabag." he grumbled under his breath, lifting up his metal limb, allowing Steve to spare a blank glance at the red star painted on the chrome plates of his left frontal limb. "Look familiar?"

Of course it looked familiar. Steve had dwelt on the image of Bucky for days and days, unable to forget it for long. That arm, now that he thought about it, looked exactly that the Winter Soldier's arm to the most minute detail.

Steve managed a nod, but no words would come out of his mouth. His throat seemed locked up, and he knew that if he tried to speak, it would come out as stuttering nonsense, so he didn't even try. He simply kept his eyes fixed on the cat and continued to listen.

"Steve do you know me?" Bucky's voice trailed away. His eyes closed, and he was lost for a long moment, long gone memory emerged in his mind, and he refused to stare at his friend. A hint of a frown curled his muzzle before he paused to seal off his tears. Crying, yes, he was crying, feeling emotions slip away and drip down his fur. A low and throaty moan rumbled out of him. "I want to remember you, there are some sometimes that I have forgotten, but everything else seems like a blur...It feels like my past doesn't exist." he meowed wistfully, and lowered his body, tucking his paws under his stomach, and trembling as his ebony fur became slick with more tears. "I never meant to do those things..."

Steve felt pity and love wash over him, and although he dared not touch the cat, for if it was indeed Bucky, he might not react well to any sort of contact, Steve felt his tongue loosened from shock. Taking in a shaky breath, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I know you didn't, Buck. Hydra's orders and the blood that resulted from them stains their own hands, not yours. It wasn't your fault."

Steve desperately wanted to ask for more information, specifically about Bucky's current predicament, but he decided against it. Surely the trauma of being a cat was more than enough, and Bucky definitely didn't need someone grilling him about the whole situation. If he wanted to speak of it, he would. Steve looked into the cat's face, trying to see his friend in it and send him comfort without words. As he gazed, he did think he saw Bucky looking out at him from behind the cat's perceptive blue eyes, and he smiled as encouragingly as he could.

"It's going to be okay, Bucky."

"Okay?" Bucky snarled as he was shaken out of his daze by Steve's empathetic words. His fur bristled and feline muzzle carved into a feral scowl. "I'm a drat cat,"

"Well," Steve said, running his hand through his blond hair and sighing, "you won't be forever. If you were changed into one, we'll just have to change you back. There's got to be a way."

Bucky scorned irritably, "I can think of one," his voice drew darker, and claws spring out. "Put a bullet in the hag's head, and watch her bleed until she reverses this curse or whatever it's called. It's effective and plus it will spare your life..."

"My life?" Steve asked, unable to mask his surprise. "What have I got to do with it?" Realizing that his tone was bit too aggressive, Steve lowered his voice and added an additional question. "Does this involve me, too?"

The whole affair was ridiculous and way out of his league, but Steve still had to tread carefully and in a manner worthy of his friend. No matter what right Steve had to panic, this wasn't Bucky's fault, as Steve had previously said. He needed to work with Bucky on this one, just as they had always dealt with their problems in the past.

Bucky tore his eyes away from Steve's firm gaze, and huffed out a frustrated sigh. He sensed the sudden distress whirling inside Steve, and the anguish the pliant soldier tried to hide. " If we can't find away to change me back into a human...You will end up like yours truly, Steve." he pointed out harshly, but it had to be said.

Steve's eyes grew wide, and he sucked in a breath of shock, but said nothing. In fact, he was silent for a while, thinking hard about what had transpired. All this was quite a bit to take in, and he had no idea how to proceed whatsoever. After a few moments in thought, he spun around and walked over to the table where his phone was resting. He would never be used to this piece of technology, but he had learned how to send a text.

"Bucky, this is beyond me," he admitted, giving his friend a desperate look. "Would S.H.I.E.L.D. have any intel about how this...transformation could occur? I realize that you may not want to discuss this, but we don't have a lot of options. How exactly did this happen? If this hag woman you've mentioned is connected with Hydra, then there might be some information about her in an old file somewhere. I have friends that could dig it up."

"No," Bucky instantly reacted, leaping off the counter and moving to the table, quick paces until he stood in front of Steve, he had to reach the captain on a serious level. "I can't be compromised, Steve. If the rogue agents of HYDRA discovered that I'm a cat..." He halted a breath, and stole a glance at the dozy kittens lapping their tongues in the bowl of milk. They were targets. "They won't stop until every stray is dead." he affirmed, grimly.

Steve knew that he could trust his contacts within S.H.I.E.L.D., but he decided not to press Bucky on the issue. If Bucky was unwilling, then they would find another solution. Steve sighed and set the phone back onto the table. Then, taking a seat in a chair so that he was on a level with the cat, he looked into its eyes and pleaded.

"Bucky, I know this is all out of whack, and it's horrible and unjust, but we need all the details we can get so that we can properly examine the facts. Would you please tell me everything that happened? Please? I want to get you back to normal, pal, and I can't do that if I don't even know all that happened in the first place. Maybe if you go over it aloud, we'll notice something you'd missed before, and we can capitalize on it."

Bucky acutely listened to the measure of firmness in Steve's voice, and felt the irony of the situation. For all those restless nights of caring for a skinny blonde haired boy while he fought against high fevers, infections and shallow breathing, he was now the one who needed Steve's protected, and although he couldn't deny it, he was glad to have his best friend watching his back. "I can try to remember, but I don't think it will be enough to help you with the details." he sighed evenly, and then looked down at his paws. "I do know the hag or witch worked for HYDRA...She knew me." his voice became soundlessly distant.

"Well," Steve said, giving a smile of encouragement, "that's certainly a start. Perhaps this was their plan all along. We should probably go out and look for this HYDRA witch herself."

The conversation was abruptly cut off by a series of loud meows coming from the kittens. Bucky looked over at them and sighed, shaking his head slightly. Who would have thought that a couple of kittens could be so much work?

"They need me," he said, jumping gracefully from the table. He walked quickly over where the kittens were yowling near the empty saucer. He smelled their familiar scent and licked each of their foreheads. "What do you want?" he asked, somewhat irritated.

"Maybe they just need some rest," Steve suggesting, getting up from his chair and coming over to the scene. "Let's go to the bed; they can sleep, and we can talk."

Bucky agreed to the logical proposal, and he grabbed the small female by the scruff and began carrying her across the floor. As he did so, he received another painful reminder of what he had been reduced to. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to forget what had happened to him, though he was careful not to harm the kitten clenched in his jaws.

"Bucky, let me take her," Steve offered, stooping down and gently taking the kitten from Bucky's grasp. In his other hand, he held the little male, who was still letting out a string of discontent moaning. Bucky said nothing out loud, but inside he thanked Steve for his consideration. Steve could not understand what it was like to be a cat, but he at least had the sense and care to try to help.

Bucky leapt to the soft sheets of the bed and sat up, back erect and tail curled around his feet. Steve placed the kittens near to Bucky's side and moved the blankets around them to keep them warm. Then he himself sat on the mattress and waited for Bucky to say something. Looking into the cat's eyes, he saw a struggle, and he felt pity once again stab his heart.

"Bucky," he said quietly, "Are you alright?"

It was a stupid question: Bucky was not alright, and Steve immediately regretting asking it, but now it was too late. Bucky's eyes flashed at him in anguish and rage, and for a moment, Steve thought he might lash out. The cat remained in its spot, but his back arched and his fur stood on end as he vented his complaint.

"I'm an animal, Steve!" he choked out. He pointed with his dark paw at his own furry body. "A worthless, mangy animal!"

"No, you're not," Steve quickly and adamantly assured. Bucky looked up with tear-filled, desperate eyes, just waiting for Steve to try to make it all better when he did not think it possible. "You're stuck," Steve continued, "but we're going to get you back to normal. You're not a cat, Sergeant Barnes! And you're not a weapon either. You are a human being under a curse, and I'm going to reverse it; I promise."

Bucky felt a tiny flame of hope flicker in the depths of his soul at Steve's words. The Captain sounded so certain, so sure that everything was really going to turn out right, that Bucky had a hard time disbelieving him. Then a sudden memory rose in his mind, and he saw Steve again in his past, embracing him. At this moment, he wished for nothing else.

"Steve," he said slowly, fighting through the confusion and entanglement of HYDRA's conditioning. "My friend..."

Steve couldn't wait any longer. He reached out his hand and drew Bucky close to his chest, hugging him tightly and forgetting for a moment the cruel fate that had befallen his friend. The only moment that he let his mind return to the present was when he felt the nudge of a kitten's nose on his leg. The two baby cats had snuggled up by his side, almost as if they sensed the closeness of the brothers.

Bucky closed his eyes and let all thoughts of his condition fade away as he felt the warmth of Steve's solid shoulder against him.

At this moment, he truly believed that all the wounds of HYDRA would be washed and cleaned in time, and perhaps he could really be Bucky Barnes again. Steve's friend.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**{10}**

* * *

Bucky couldn't tolerate another moment of being a confined house cat. He drew out sharp seething breaths with his claws retract where he stood. Anger was solidifying in his slender body, ebony fur raised as he glared intently at the door; his pupils morphed into diamond slits in the center of ghostly azure irises as his hind legs bent, and front limbs latched onto the white painted wood. He responded to his torrent distress; lashing his claws and scraping the wood as he hissed out in livid rage, wanting to tear his own fur out as the absence of his calamity faded with heavy pants of heated breath. It was painful obvious that his humanity was fading. He knew there wasn't much time before he would become truly lost in the vessel of the condemned feline. The anger that flowed in his system wasn't just for his life, but Steve Rogers. How could he follow his best friend to share the same fate? Steve was a good man, the best there was and he ultimately didn't deserve a lifetime stuck inside a weak animal.

After hearing what escaped from one of the kitten's mouth, Bucky snapped his head around, staring, blue eyes fixed on the female. She displayed to sign of resistance towards him, her little form stalked closer to him as she meowed with a muzzy noise, which to his sharp hearing was annoying, but she was persistent. He was burning with frustration, and he was hissing out a warning that didn't halt against his sand paper tongue, "Get away from me," he said in an harsh automatic response, suddenly enraged by her presence. "I will kill you..." Then he stopped. And the kitten froze in her tracks. Everything ceased. He lowered himself down, his blue eyes focused on her frightening body, and he looked down at his paws, metal and fur. He pulled back, breaths racked in low and disturbed sounds that hitched from his mouth.

No. No, no, no. Of all the things to stare at...Guilt and loathing remorse swept over him, invading every crevice of his twisting soul, and then he swallowed and shook his head at the sudden rush of tears. She was afraid of him because of his threatening stance, almost scared out her mind as she shivered under his dark shadow and mewled with frantic cries. And then, Bucky lunged out for her, and barricaded her distance with his paw; cautiously pushing her closer to him. He was trying to calm her down, even despite what had occurred when his Winter Soldier programming haunted his mind. He wanted to regain her trust, but there was no reconciling ends of the impasses between humanity and interfaces; no sense to feel or to understand his ravaging emotions.

The precious form of life trembling under his icy gaze, she was his to protect.

Bucky sucked his furry lips disdainfully into a pout, "I didn't mean to scare you, it's hard for me to adapt. I'm a human..." He trailed off with a distant cadence in his rough voice... "A wounded soldier."

Just then, a noise from the hallway outside the apartment signaled that Steve had returned. The captain unlocked the door and came inside, locking the bolt behind him. His athletic shirt was wet in some places and his hair was greasy, but he hardly looked like he had just exercised. His breath was even and his stride was still as energetic as ever.

His bright eyes soon saw something that troubled him, though. The door he had just shut was covered in scratches that certainly hadn't been there before. It didn't take a detective to know that these had been made by a distressed cat, and Steve turned worriedly to find his transformed friend.

"Bucky," he called. Stepping away from the door, he soon spotted the black cat curled up next to one of the kittens. He moved towards the pair with great concern. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Fine," a hoarse, bitten escaped from the black cat, he stroked his muzzle against the kitten's head. He recognized the calmness of touch. "She...I sort of frightened her."

"I was talking about you," Steve said, sitting down on the floor and looking into the cat's deep eyes. "What's going on?"

There was a vague swell in his chest, Bucky lowered his head in disdain, "Look at me, Steve," a rumble from the thrum dejection vibrated his ribs. "I'm a cat...I'm not James Barnes anymore; and I think should accept me as this creature. I deserve this life." He sealed his eyes shut for a long moment, feeling the surface of tears edging to pour out of him. "I hurt a lot of good people, destroyed lives all because I was the gun and HYDRA pulled the trigger. I don't want you to look at me with pathetic face, this is my reward for the crimes I have done..."

Steve felt as if his very soul had been cloven in two by Bucky's despairing words. He reached his hand forward and rested it on the cat's sharp shoulder blade. Taking in a breath and swallowing a lump in his throat, he tried to think of the best way to give his friend hope.

"Bucky, HYDRA committed those crimes, not you. You yourself are a victim of their offenses more than anyone else. You don't have to blame yourself. It's like you said; HYDRA used you as their gun to kill lots of people. But who in their right mind would be angry at a weapon for its wielder's crimes? Bucky, you don't have to believe HYDRA's lies; they don't control you anymore.

"And you won't be a cat for long. I promise you that we can discover how to fix this; if there's a way to transform someone into a cat, and then there's got to be a way to reverse it. We will find that way."

The weight of remorse of his friend's words sliced through him. Waiting for the answers wasn't going to change him back into a human. He needed to retrace the events of the transform, bisect the missing details and end this tortuous curse that kept him hostage in feline's body. Lifting his head, Bucky searched for resolved in Steve's light blue eyes. Hope. Enough to tell him there was a chance to escape from the curse, but also enough to make doubt reality. His mind, heart and soul twisted as a rush of languished torment invaded him once more. Grabbing the amount of courage he needed, the cat faced the super-solider with pleading eyes, "You have to stay away from me, Steve...If we can't break this curse..." He bit his tongue, swallowing back the coppery tang of blood as he exclaimed. "You'll become a cat..."

With that grave response, Bucky stalked back to the door, and he whispered, «I can live with this curse, Steve, but I can't live if you're not free from it."

"And I can't live if you're not free from it either," Steve affirmed with as much resolve as he could muster. "I'd rather be cursed a thousand times than stay as I am, only to know that I didn't help my friend when I could have. When I should have. I couldn't take that kind of dishonor; please don't ask me to."

Bucky shook his head, "The world needs Captain America to throw his mighty shield, not the Winter Soldier to fill a few graves." he echoed back, coldly.

"The world has five other Avengers to keep it save," Steve replied, still trying to stand his ground, "not to mention all its police and soldiers. But the Winter Soldier only has one friend, and that friend is not leaving him. That would be a contradiction of everything I stand for! Bucky, I was barely able to live when you fell and I thought you were dead because of my failure. How could I go on if I knew I had simply given up? Do you ask me to live in such agony?"

"I never asked for any of this," Bucky slashed out a paw, his blue eyes livid with hate. "I never asked to be unmade and lose the only woman I have ever loved because of HYDRA's morbid dealings with the devil to create their perfect world of order!"

"I know, Bucky!" Steve said quickly, hoping to calm his friend down. He was quite curious about the woman Bucky mentioned, but it was clearly not the right time to ask about it. Instead, Steve kept his thoughts and words focused on the current problem. "And no one's blaming you for what has happened. If they do, they'll have me to reckon with. What I'm saying is that I'm not leaving you to this fate, even if helping you endangers me. You don't need to argue about it, because this is the only option. The subject is not open for debate. I am going to help you, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can lift this curse."

Steve crossed his arms and hardened his expression, hoping that his stubbornness would be respected and maybe even admired by his companion. Inside, he felt anything but resilient. It seemed like his heart had been torn apart, and every time he looked into Bucky's eyes, searching for the soul entrapped in a cat's body, his inner pain was renewed. But he had to be strong for his friend. He would not fail Bucky again.

Bucky huffed, claws dug into the floor, "Fine," he hissed back vehemently, averting his eyes from Steve's firm stare. "If it doesn't work..."

"Then so be it." Steve huffed, his will worn thin by the argument, but a smile of triumph pulling at his lips. "Now, how about finding the way to reverse this transformation?"

The cat felt numb for a moment; he looked up at Steve with solemnity in his pale blue eyes, he might as well be dead if Steve didn't perform his heroics on the street, and save him. Memories quickly returned to him as he inhaled the air heavily, desperately welcoming those hollow and searing words of the morbid incantation back inside of him. "I remember the old hag saying something about a true friend can save me..." He whispered, memories of the night in graveyard were slowly returning, but like his mind, they were scattered and incoherent to the absence of thought.

The ones that did however were the most alarming and calamitous thoughts of a deranged witch butchered his soul with her wrath...Dark magic...condemnation...fate...solitary...and a friend...

"You're one who can reverse the curse, Steve." Bucky managed, weakly. His blue eyes hardly kept tears from the dull ache in his chest. His heart ceased to beat, as the next thought sent a spike of warmth through the empowering panic that overtook him.

"Anna..." The name of his forgotten love returned to him along with clear image of an angelic beauty that radiated love and trust, but also turmoil and anguish. The feelings attached to those were enough to life a broken man from the edge of despair and fill him with a sense of everlasting strength. He clung to those memories and feelings like a lifeline, afraid they would evaporate and fade as she did from the moment she confessed her love to him...The Winter Soldier...HYDRA's killing machine...The ghost.

She was gone.

"Well," Steve said, snapping Bucky out of the past and back to the present. "If we know that I can reverse the curse, then we're one step closer to our goal. And Bucky..." Steve left his heart again stabbed with pity as he reached out his hands towards the friend that he loved as a brother. "Buck, if there's another innocent victim of HYDRA out there, a friend of yours, I promise that I will do all in my power to find them. Okay? Your friends are my friends."

Steve's hands closed around the small, black body of the graceful feline and pulled the creature close. Steve wrapped his friend in a warm embrace; tears pricking his eyes as he thought of all Bucky had gone through. That Brooklyn kid had supported Steve for his whole life; it was time to return the favor.

Feeling the empowering warmth of his best friend shielding over his displaced form; Bucky closed his and nestled his body against Steve's chest. He sighed contently.

A dull vibration began to course over the cat's body, and a sweet, calm sound emanated from Bucky's mouth. He was purring. A smile crept up Steve's face, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Bucky, are you purring?" he asked, a teasing tone touching his voice lightly enough not to make Bucky clamp up against him.

"Shut up, punk," the cat managed to answer him as he drifted into peaceful slumber.

He felt safe.


	11. Chapter 11

****

Oak branches contorted over the vacant grave site, contracting into a gray abyss of morning fog. A chilly November rain dripped from the sodden leaves and onto her sleek ebony fur. Her ember eyes were fixed at a marble marker, fading words of forgotten friend. It felt like ages since her paws roamed over the obscured area; in truth it had grown to become years. She held the lifetimes of people in her ageless eyes, watching them grow old in each passing drift of time. It was her curse to become an observer and comfort. She knew it in the depths of her mind that there was no chance of freedom...There was no hope of escaping from this life. And she was condemned. Imprisoned by torturous magic that encased her bones and trapped her spirit into a symbolic animal she had once deemed herself to be in her youth days. She had never envisioned humans becoming transformed into animal captives. It happened, that night when she stared into his ghostly blue eyes and saw his heart scattering.

She closed her eyes, and imagined him when they were both dead and alive.

* * *

(Flashback)

She had been discarded from the eyes of HYDRA, left to rot without the warmth of his arms (flesh and metal) enclosed over her lithe form. Anna looked around over the cell, musty air invaded her nostrils as she reluctantly breathed in the stench of decay greeting her in all directions of her confinement; she had been condemned to live in the nest of scraps of fabric with only a dim flicker of candle light to keep her hope from fading as the coldness and darkness encroached around her trembling body.

It had been torture to listen to his horrific screams of utter anguish echo in her eardrums; she knew they were frying his brain, erasing his memories and falsifying his emotions with their interweaving orders. She spent years, looking at his disheveled existence melt away into the hardened gaze of the Winter Soldier, but she also spent her days bringing the true man back, through her loving caresses of her lips along the sharp clenched of his jaw; the warmth of her kiss on his frozen lips and the steady beat of her heart against his firm chest; she was in love with him so much that would offer her soul to HYDRA just to have one moment to stare into his pale blue eyes, and find him again. From the depths of her soul came the sounds of young woman begging to for her freedom; shedding tears for the life she wanted to have with him. It was too reminiscent of her days to feel the unrelenting bite of the cold penetrate in her bones and churn the acid in her stomach.

She had waited for hours, listening to the rusted bars of the cell screech open, and stared into the emotionless eyes of the old woman, Octavia Fleischer , a member of the occult, half German and Romanian, her face darkened with corrupted malice, and gray eyes filled with disgust. Some of the young female operatives, pegged her as a witch because of the morbid things she performed in the basement. She wasn't blessed with beauty, no, she was scarred by the demons of her past, left side of her face covered with a metallic plate that concealed her marred skin. She experimented on the weak, butchering them into hollow shells, and enslaving them into vessels that weren't human, but tragic results of her tortuous subjection. She loomed in front of Anna, glaring her down with her wraith like eyes, scowling as she sniffed the fear wafting in the air.

"The scent of death," she said with a gravelly voice, her eyes flashing. A smirk rose on her twisted face, the sight enough to make Anna cringe. "Marvelous isn't it?"

Anna made no response, and Octiva's sadistic grin quickly changed back into a frown. She pointed an accusing, claw-like finger at the young operative, her eyes narrowing as a predator surveying its prey.

"You must be enjoying the lovely chorus provided by your friend in there," the witch said, gesturing down the hall to the Red Room. "It is the anthem of HYDRA, and you will join the song in due time. But not without a familial prelude."

Anna's face betrayed her confusion and fear, and another wicked smile crept up the old hag's marred face. "Your brother-in-law performed his part very well; lots of screams. He was fun to listen to, before he died, that is." Her cold, cruel eyes showed absolutely no remorse as she continued. "Your dear sister and her unborn child will soon follow in his footsteps. Traitors are weaklings, and there can be no weaklings with HYDRA."

"Please spare their lives," Anna whimpered, lowering her head. Her heart urging her to look away so that she might be spared from the wicked gaze invading her wrenched form. It felt like a haze of momentary cowardice shrouded over her, as she narrowed her brown eyes, avoiding the ominous gray chasms piercing through the shadows. She'd chewed on her colorless lips. She had been hiding from them, protecting her secret, and keeping her younger sister safe. How could she conceal something like this from her handlers? Why didn't she tell him? How dare they try to murder her sister? Why couldn't she be strong enough to protect her own blood, instead of becoming a coward, "Ella doesn't deserve this... I deserve death..." She gritted her teeth, brown eyes became molten embers of defiance. "Not my sister."

"Both of you brats deserve death," snapped the occultist, her poisoned dipped nails clenching into a fist. "And you will both have it. You will be HYDRA's example of what happens to those who try to defy us. Get ready, little princess; you're about to be brought into my throne room."

Octavia waved a hand and two HYDRA guards appeared at the cell doorway. Seeing the anger and boldness in Anna's fierce eyes, Octavia added a little incentive. "The more you struggle, the longer and more painful it will be for her. And would you like to take a brief pause beside your dear assassin's room? I'm sure we can have some fun there, too. I have several little tricks I'd like to try out on him."

Anna looked down, dismayed, when tears coated her brown eyes "Leave him out of this!" she stormed through gritted teeth, fires of remorse burning in her.

"Then be a good little girl and come with me," the occultist chucked with cruelty, her voice a mixture between mocking and threatening. "Why don't come and see your broken soldier. Watch him lose everything with just a flick of a switch."

"You will never win," Anna resounded, her voice crackling with each pant of breath; slowly she reared her lithe form off cold ground, and staggered to the cell's doorway. "Evil never prevails."

The witch let out a cackle that sent a shiver up Anna's spine. She stepped aside to let her captive out of the door and, then began to lead the small troop down the hallway towards the basement's entrance. "That means precious little coming from you at this moment, dearie. You are already defeated and broken. I have already prevailed."

Anna glanced over her tensed shoulder, scowling darkly at the witch, "He will kill you..." she warned, with a measure of coldness in her strained voice. She was breathing out her words of desperation. "You can't run from him..."

The witch pivoted on her spiked heels, and then moved closer to Anna's face until they were only a few inches apart. Then in a swift stroke, Octavia lashed out and slapped Anna's face, leaving cruel, and reddened scratches with her long nails. Before Anna could react to the abuse, the hag grabbed her victim by the strands of hair and drew her up close again.

"Do not threaten me, girl," Octavia hissed, her foul breath nearly making Anna vomit. "The Soldier will feel pain for that remark, as will you." She gripped Anna's wrist and dug her claws into it, drawing blood quickly, but pushing down even harder. "Now shut your worthless trap and obey."

Octavia, huffing triumphantly, spun on her heels and resumed her walk down the hallway. But then she stopped, her evil heart eager to cause more pain. She held up a hand to the guards who were walking slightly behind her and faced Anna again, a smile curving on her cracked, blackened lips.

"Why don't we go and see your assassin?" she asked conceitedly; her smile growing slightly as her mind formulated the coming scene. "Would you like a last goodbye? I'm sure we can arrange a fine farewell gift for him."

Anna felt smoldering tear well in her eyes, she didn't want to face him-James. Hesitantly, she shook her head, "I don't want to see him...Not in that state."

"Excellent," murmured Octavia ignoring Anna's protests and nodding to the guards, who each took one of Anna's arms and held them fast. "Come," the witch said, heading for the door from whence screams of agony came. "I'm sure he'll be so happy to see you."

Anna roared, "No!"

Listening to the chorus of heart-wrenching howls of pain, Anna felt her felt quivering as her eyes became transfixed on the doors with the symbols of HYDRA painted on the tarnished steel walls. All the accumulating thralls of distress, horror and rage just made her lash out. "I don't want to see him strapped down to the chair, screaming out names of people who don't exist; especially the one that he keeps on repeating from the past. A captain of some sort..." She seethed through her clenched teeth with frightening brown eyes directed on the door.

The witch was not fazed by Anna's plea, and she directed the guards toward the entrance, the screams becoming clearer and louder as they approached. They quickly reached the door frame and entered, the room opening up before them like the mouth of a grave. The stench in here was even worse than in the cell, and even Octavia seemed a little distressed by it. It smelled of blood, sweat, and rot. One could feel the pain in the very air of the room.

"Stop your work for a moment," the sordid hag commanded the agents, harshly.

The undaunted operatives ceased their tortures immediately, obviously out of fear of the person who had issued the order. For the first time in what seemed like ages, the terrible cries of anguish subsided. Octavia drew close to the bounded specimen, who was heaving in deep breaths and coughing up some blood. For the moment, he didn't even seem aware of his surroundings; he stared at a fixed point above him without looking around or moving. The witch drew her crooked, dark finger across his strong jaw line and smiled wickedly. Turning to face Anna again, she croaked out a mocking laugh, as her lips curved into a taunting sneer.

"Haven't you got anything to say to him?"

Those cold words pierced her soul...Well whatever was left of it.

"I..." Anna released a shaky exhale, that did little to ease her nerves. She did her utmost to remain calm and felt her heart build enough courage to face him. The metallic chrome plates of his bionic arm caught her disheveled reflection; she hardly looked human enough to settle her tear filled brown eyes on the illusion of a ghost. He was unresponsive to her soothing presence, his pale blue eyes glazed with milky film of lingering anguish. His full lips chapped with flecks of blood as he tried to speak, but all that manage to escape from his raw throat was harsh and forced out wheeze, and breathed noisily.

"Who are you?"he slurred, his voice damaged from the dryness of the stale heat permeating the room. He winced, and sealed his eyes shut from the harsh light pouring over his exposed and slick muscles. His lips curled into a feral grimace. "Why did you come here..."

"I wanted to see you again." Anna sobbed, reaching her shaky hand towards the Winter Soldier. Surprisingly, no one stopped her, and while she knew that couldn't be a good sign, she didn't let the thought deter her. Her graceful fingers finally made contact with the firm muscles of his flexing right arm, and she let herself soak in all the details of his rigid touch. He was strong and steady, even in the midst of such terrible pain. A tear slipped over her soiled cheek, and she let her hand wander up to the Soldier's tensed face.

For a brief moment, time stood still. Anna gazed into the deep blue eyes of the one she loved, losing herself in them. For that second, she was not trapped in the vile bonds of Hydra. She was free, soaring in the pale blue sky of a clear day, no cloud or shadow in sight to dim her joy. Her fingers brushed aside the sloppy and long brown strands of hair obscuring part of James' cheek, and she whispered the truth without a thought to the despair all around her.

"You know me," Anna breathed.

She bit her lip, leaning forward to brush his rakish bangs off his drenched brow. "You've been hurt," she said, her voice breaking. "It's all going to be alright, we're together now." She heaved out, trying to suppress the flow of tears blurring her eyes. "Everything is going to be fine."

The Winter Solider starting muttering a gibberish of disjointed Russian words, timidly. "I know you," he panted out as his ghostly blue eyes burned with livid tears and his rigid metal hand shot to Anna's frail forearm, crunching the bones with a constricting squeeze as she yelp against the numbness plaguing in her veins, the fist curled itself over a tender part of her arm, mechanism whirred with strain of its task, bruising over her pale skin, the metal digits scraped as he tried to crush her bones and she screamed out in pain.

"The love between you two is moving," the witch laughed cruelly, eyeing Anna with a look of victory in her darkened eyes. "The Winter Soldier belongs to HYDRA," she ground out, glaring at the assassin before her. "In a matter of hours, he will not even know you from any other person. He is a weapon, not a man. Your love is a waste of emotion that has betrayed you to your death."

"No," Anna cried, trying to wrench her arm free of the Winter's Soldier's iron grasp. "Soldier, don't leave me, please!"

Her brown eyes filled with emotion, begging the Soldier to hear her desperate pleas. With her free arm, she took his right hand and clasped it, knowing that such an act could result in further injury to herself. She didn't care. "James, remember me!"

He narrowed his eyes to her dainty hand encased over his flesh and bones. He traced her blemished knuckles with a cold touch of metal. She interlocked her fingers in the spaces of his own, and he started to shiver. Little tremors of his nerves quivering under his slick muscles like tiny aftershocks from the trauma and pain his shackled body had experienced. He blinked the haze out of his vision, and lifting his head slight up, as he looked at her, really stared with deep sorrow when her angelic face hovered over him. She was dream; coffee irises filled of life and trust, full lips painted with the shade of crimson, and silky chocolate hair that draped over her ivory features. He always look to her when the darkness consumed him; when he needed liberation out of his mindless deliriums, She was life.

"Anna," he mumbled against her, his voice weak and more lackluster than before, but she was mere inches from him, she could easily hear her name ghost from his bruised lips. "You're beautiful..." he whispered.

Anna smiled in spite of the moment, letting more tears fall. She pressed her palm against James' hand and tried to give him some warmth; he was so cold. A nod from the witch caused the guards to step forward to grab her, and before they could, Anna hurriedly leaned forward. She pressed her lips against her beloved's brow, kissing him farewell.

"Never forget," she said in his ear, her heart was breaking. He felt every word. "Day will come to us someday."

A hand violently pulled Anna back by her mussed hair, and she cried out, extending her hands toward James in one last desperate attempt to keep from being parted from him. Her fingers brushed against the Soldier's hand one last time before she was out of reach.

"Begin your work again," Octavia snapped at the operatives, "The director wants you to step it up. HYDRA's asset has incurred some additional punishment because of the way his little brat has acted."

Horror clenched his belly, confusion and rage. His lips broke apart as he unleashed ragged cries of heartbreak. "She belongs to me!"

Thrashing his body weight against the chair; he manged to rip his metal arm out of the hinges of the clasp. The plates disconnected from the wires, and his straggly dark hair fell against his hardened jaw. "Anna," he growled out, breathlessly. His eyes widened with realization. She looked at him, really looked at him with the undeniable truth welled in her rich brown eyes. He searched for his resolve in the shadows of the room, avoiding the sinister gaze of the witch whom threatened to take her away from him. His heart was beckoning out to her like a lifeline, as he tried to grasp her as the tempest of swirling red devoured his thoughts. His lips curled as he pleaded in a harsh breath, fearing for her life. "I completed the mission...I did what you told me to do."

The steel doors creaked opened, and the director stepped inside with smug grin etched over his aging features. His cold and passive blue eyes stared him down with disappointment as he approached the chair in hauntingly steps. His was tall, shoulders at ease from tension and his lips held a firm line as he narrowed his gaze at the Winter Soldier. Still, this man of the high position of order displayed no hesitation under the fierce gaze of his asset. Brushing the strands of his ginger-blonde hair from his forehead, he halted in his strides and settled his sharp eyes on Octavia. "You know I think its best that you this lovely young woman here for awhile before we begin the direct approach of extraction." He spared his glance at Anna, placing his hand on her pallid cheek as she trembled with an shaky exhales. "You were meant to be a comfort to lure him back out of the pain. Submission was the law that you agreed to follow when your father sent here."

Anna felt her throat tightened. Come on, don't allow him to break you. Maybe there was a chance for her life to become spared. Unfortunately, HYDRA wasn't merciful. Punishment was always their reckoning against defiance. He was close enough to catch her shifts of emotions. His gaze narrowed as he waited for her to answer him. She swallowed and took her stand, "It wasn't my choice to spend a life here." she felt-something-from the depths of her throat, erupting at the center of her chest. "You forced my father to something he want to do. At the end of deal you ordered your men to open fire and kill him right in front of me and the thing that prevent me from gutting her lungs-my sister."

Something-a low, drawn out rumble of a sound. An uncompressed growl.

Darkly as she stood, Anna twisted her bloodless lips into a smirk and shot him a penetrating glare with her eyes. She edged a step closer; feeling the urges to kill him right there in front of everyone. She had changed from a meek and flinching woman into a dangerous and unpredictable animal-a cat-, unhinged and cornered. For the shortest of a second the director saw a flash of murder in her eyes.

"Your compliance is not acceptable," the director admonished, inching a step back, and nodded as Octavia seized her wrist from behind, twisting the limb against her back. "Your father was in the way. He needed to be removed before certain secrets ended up in our enemies hands. He was a good agent, but he had weakness." He stiffed his lips, and traced his thumb across her chin. "Like all good men they sacrifice everything to protect the things they love." He said, looking down disappointingly at the Winter Soldier.

"Leave him out of this. I'm the one who deserves punishment." Anna returned through clenched teeth. Octavia yanked her hair, jerking her head ups as she released a small yelp.

"This world is a dark place." The director said withdrawing back and he moved to the table. He opened a tattered covered book, flipping through crisped pages of ancient Druid text. "Sometimes to build a new world out of darkness you need make a deal with the devil." He added, ripping out a page, and holding it against the light. "You have choice to make my dear," Anna looked at him with enraged eyes. "This text holds a power that can be unleashed with simple words. It was made to devour souls of men during the Dark Ages. We have acquired the books from tombs of the beholders of this force of miracle. We have used it on a few unworthy captives...You're brother in-law David didn't contain enough strength to handle the incantations."

Anna shook head, disbelieving his words. "You're lying!"

With that, the director snapped his fingers, and within seconds of the commanding echo the doors opened and two operatives dragged in a tarp; dropping it at in the middle of the room. He walked casually to the area, crouched down and pulled it open, revealing charred skeletal remains of a human body. David's body. Anna tore her glazed eyes away from the horrific sight, and focused them on the Winter Soldier, as the assassin shifted in the chair, feeling a sense of reverence hit him. Those deadened and empty eyes held tears as he stared back at her. "I promise you that it will quick for her sister. A simple torture that will truly break her. The choice is in your hands."

It has always been about choice with her life, she couldn't allow Ella to die, no matter how much she loved sister. And she knew that she would be enslaved, condemned and alone. At least there was a chance for her to freedom. And for James, she knew he wasn't going to be a puppet on strings forever. He would have a life, maybe not a normal life, but still a life. Time slowed as she entered at impasse, and just stared into the Winter Soldier's pale blue eyes, before drawing at a shuddering breath. "I'll do whatever I can to keep Ella spared from this..."

The Winter Soldier stared deeply at her, as tears streaked over his bruised and ashed cheeks. "Anna," he breathed, heartbreak with held in his blue eyes. "Don't do this."

"It's my choice." she said and then was dragged away. Everything was being swallowed into black mass of dread. Anna listened to him screaming out her name as he was detained, and thrown hard against the chair. A dull pain entered her heart. She never called back to him. She loved him. That's all he needed to know. Not through her voice, but through her straying tears.

_My choice._

* * *

 

The coldness of the rain woke the black feline from the torrents of memory as her frontal paw caressed over the wording engraved in the stone. She hadn't let herself touch the marker that held her sister's name like this until now, hadn't let herself think about her past for a long time. It was her choice to sacrifice her life in order to save Ella and her niece. Her promise.

Warm tears welled inside the deep pools of ember; the cat hung her head low, fighting against the conflict of despair and hate. Her paw clenched into a fist, as he parted her jaws and spoke with a mournful whisper of defeat. "I'm sorry," A confession pierced from her throat. "I tried to find a way but I was not strong enough." She slammed his eyes shut, constricting the tears under her lids. "It should have been me…" She sobbed, rubbing her muzzle against the rough surface of the gave. "I did my best...I guess it wasn't enough to save you."

Suddenly, Anna's thoughts were distracted by the sound of movement. The cat did not run as her instincts told her; something rooted her to the spot and refused to allow her to leave. She turned her gaze and focused her keen eyes on the source of the disturbance, trying to see what was approaching through the falling rain.

The figure soon came into clear view, and Anna was surprised to find that it was a small girl, too young to be out in the rain all by herself. Yet here she was, walking slowly through the cemetery. As the little girl neared the stone-still feline, Anna made out some of the arrivals' condition. The child had a tattered shall wrapped around her shivering arms in a failing attempt to keep out the chill. Her dark blonde hair was wet and dripping with rain, and her feet were tied with cloth; no shoes to grace them.

The girl did not see Anna at first, but she was apparently headed for the grave. Her sweet, quiet voice soon called out, though Anna could not see anyone to whom the girl was speaking.

"Hi, Grandmother," the girl began in a light, carefree tone. "Sorry I haven't come to see you in so long. I was looking for lunch, and it took longer than I..." the child's eyes spotted the cat, and her face brightened into a wide smile. "Hello, there," she beamed. "Are you here to see my grandmother too?"

Anna felt something familiar in the little girl's blue eyes and soft face. She cautiously stepped closer, and the child leaned down and extended a hand. "Can I pet you?"

Anna made no protest, and the girl's hand stroked her wet fur with a kind touch. "You're cold," the child said with concern, "I'll wrap you up."

The girl sat with her legs crossed beside the grave and pulled the cat into her arms, putting the cloak around the animal and cuddling it close. "This is where my grandmother is," she said with reserve in her voice; patting the cat's head and pointing to the grave stone. "I sometimes come to see her when I'm lonely. She's a good listener."

"So am I, little one," Anna purred somberly as she nuzzled her drench body close to her grandniece.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky sifted his paws curiously over Steve's wardrobe, standing on his hind legs and swiping apart fabrics of separate garments and pulling them aside.

He stared at the Avengers black sweatshirt lodged in between plaid shirts and a dark green military suit hanging tidily on metal hanger and encased in clear plastic, the cat looked at the uniform through the fever blur and traced his paw over the sleeve. He was familiar with the uniform and couldn't help but smile to himself. It was a momentarily glimpse of happiness that soon became doused with the harrowing sense of the curse flowing in his veins.

Though, he tried to fight pain, it still twisted the threads of his imprisoned soul. Memories faltered as he lowered himself down from the closet but his claws were suck in the plastic and he tugged the uniform off the rack and fell over him.

He was trapped.

Releasing fussy noises, the cat thrashed against the plastic, trying to escape as frantic pants of breath emerged from his mouth. One moment he felt helpless and bolted inside the closet, underneath a self of books and old records. The plastic created obstruction over his vision as he nearly banged his head into something hard and metal. A hollow ting vibrated in his ears, as he alarmingly stepped back only to trip on Steve's boots.

"Get this stuff off of me!"

Suffocating, Bucky screeched in distress, and managed to pull off the sheet of plastic, breathing heavily as he caught a glimpse of a couple shields-a very traditional spade crusading looking with the American red and white stripes and stars, and another one, circular, faded from age but still held that feeling of power. He run his paw over the curve.

For a moment he felt stuck in a strange haze, bones wracked against his jet fur and horrible sounds and painful shocks passed through him.

_He stared at the robot rising it's arm and firing a blast of energy. The same blue power source that had turned soldiers into ash within seconds. He felt all the blood in his face drain as he raced towards Steve. His heart was throbbing with every breath as he released as time slowed around him._

_There wasn't a chance that his best friend could survive a blast, so he reacted on impulse and picked up the shield, and stood in front of Steve who slowly lifted himself up with his hands. He marched forward with defiance burning in his eyes, holding the shield close to his chest proudly as the cold flecks of snow slashed over his face, and then as he was about to draw fire at the machine ...A shock wave of a a bone jostling blast struck him and sent him hurling out of the train car and he clung to a small metal bar and waited for Steve to save him..._

He jumped aback quickly on his feet and went back to the bed and ducked under the mattress to hide. Closing his eyes he flushed out the images with darkness, hopelessly trying to distract himself, focusing on nothing just the rumbles of his silent purring and the echoes of his surroundings.

Still, the residual guilt consumed him; it wasn't nearly as bad, it was only a small fragment of memory. Those waves of delirium made him sick. He didn't want to spew his guts out. Not again. Not for the third time in two days. Steve would suspect that something was wrong. It was least thing Bucky wanted his friend to be concerned about, it was bad enough that he brought Steve into his morbid world of monsters, witches and dark magic. He didn't want the captain to see his pain, to see him struggle to regain humanity. He was going to fight this internal battle alone. Steve couldn't carry his burdens and shield him from the fate HYDRA bestowed onto him, and he knew that time was betraying him. The curse was merging into his bones, thoughts and whatever was left of his heart.

He wiggled out of the obscurity of the mattress, sneezing a little as dust practicals touched his nose and padded his way to the balcony door, silently.

It was in his instincts to run...and so he crept outside into the heavy snowfall and disappeared leaving small paw marks for Steve to follow.

Still learning to cope with the daunting truth of her grandniece's life, Anna felt battered by the cruel realization that her bloodline had been cursed for years, ever since HYDRA's occult leader condemned her beauty and soul inside a vessel of a stray and ageless black cat. She gave her life up to spare her sister and unborn niece. It was a sacrifice of the heart, because she never got to stare into pale blue eyes of her love-James-she had grieved for him every time she looked at the brilliance of colors in the blue sky, snowflakes and scraps chrome metal piled in vacant alleyways.

For a lifetime, she prowled the cities of the world, a silent and disheveled observer in the shadows; staring out young couples, families and gravestones.

It wasn't a great way to survive, but it kept her strength up and drove hope back into her, giving her a sense that she will be reunited with him.

There was one small fraction of time, a few weeks ago, she had caught a glimpse, just a small glimpse of the Winter Soldier stalking inside the obstructed area of parked vehicles with scope launcher lifted high to his metal shoulder. She was curled up under a small car during that time, hiding from the loud vibrations of explosions and screams from the hordes of frantic and panicking citizens racing through the streets. When she was preparing to bolt, that moment she froze as the a gleam of silver reflected in her eyes. She only the back of him at first, armored vest with a gun strapped between his shoulder blades, the long and wolfish mane was the sight recognition.

_Once the smoke cleared, and flecks of sunlight dotted the asphalt the black feline raised her head with uncertainly welled in her ember eyes. The disturbance of heavy gun fire was deafened to her ears. In every direction there were mercenaries holding up assault rifles and aiming at the running targets. It wasn't the average afternoon rush hour, smoldering vehicles were turned upside down, with gauging holes eating away at the compromised metal. In vague glance of her sharpened vision, she saw a a flash of blood red hair flopping off shoulders of a lithe female pacing down the street, and watched the red haired woman look over her shoulder, darting her green eyes apprehensively. Then, in the thick of chase the intrigued cat moved closer to the wheel cap, and found herself staring at menacing figure emerging from the clearness of gray._

_The Winter Soldier stalked closer with slow, and calculated steps as he approached the area-he looked pissed off about something, his grayish blue eyes were trained and vacant as he loomed over one area, right in front of the vehicle she had been hiding underneath. Her little heart sped up a few beats, and she became still as he crouched down, knelt on one armored knee-she saw the clear visage of his face._

_His deadly eyes hidden by straggly tresses of hair that nearly touched his shoulders. His graphite mask was the same, concealing the fullness of his lips and structure of his heavy jaw. She opened to open her mouth, and say something...anything to him, but she hesitated when a shunt of doubt and blanched away. She couldn't bring herself to face him, not after all those years of endearing a broken heart -she needed to let him finish his mission._

_For moment, she just stared at his fierce eyes and whispered in muffled voice, almost like she was crying. "James..."_

Anna shook off the memories, she caught of glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror, and then after standing on the vanity, looking at her bedeviled reflection, she collected herself back up, took a few heavy inhaled and jumped down onto the scuffed floorboards. Her acute ember eyes looked at the little girl huddled in a closet, tattered blankets and cushions made up a fort like shelter against the damp air of the vacant apartment. She moved in hushed steps, and rubbed her face over the child's tucked legs, purring softly to ease the tears she noticed escaping from her new friend's eyes. "It's alright, little one," she cooed, stroking her head against the small hand poking from the heap of covers.

"Close eyes, and go to sleep. I'm here and I promise you, nothing bad will come..." she paused and turned her glaring eyes to the window. There was a faint gleam of light piercing from the dingy blackness of the alleyway. Anna's only sign that hope didn't abandoned her. Despite the gloom that surrounded her, she found relative peace on this night, she knew that James was out there searching for her, maybe not his eyes, but his heart. "Just the dawn."

* * *

 

Cold. Bucky felt his bones jostle as he stalked through the mounds of snow. His ebony fur dusted with white as he moved towards the wooden stairwell. He had been wandering the streets, twisting obstructions of the dank maze of alleyways, pathways and roads. He kept in the obscurity, blending well of his surroundings as he walked in hush and slinky steps across the barren sidewalk; unheard and unseen by unwanted eyes. The only witness of his elusive presence as a small tuft of brown fur wedged in narrow space of a crack. A mouse-his prey-instincts controlled his thoughts as his blue eyes trained on the small rodent popping in and out of its hiding space.

With patience, the cat lowered his body, and then he crawled on his belly using his frontal paws to give him traction. His approach was silent but merciless. Timing was everything to his hunt. His laser eyed vision locked on his target as his stomach growled, and blood pumped faster. He felt the twisting aderaline boost in his system. Claws retracted out to gather the sensory of vibrations of mouse pattering in front of the hole. It was consuming surge of fire rushing in his veins. He halted in mid-step, and leveled his eyes on the vulnerable animal. At first, he was unnoticed, but then, the mouse jerked in startled movement, twitching its nose and then it froze under the encroaching shadow of the cat.

The rodent was easy prey.

"You're mine," the cat hissed daringly; feeling his retracted claws sink into the snow as he positioned his slender form into attacking stance. The mouse was corners, squeaking in fear as the daunting blue eyes of feline glared intently down on the short limbs, the limits of a counterattack were thin. Bucky knew his prey didn't stand a chance against his programmed hunting tactics. His predatory instincts drove him closer to the objective. He was impeded to spare the mouse from the kill. He was craving the nourishment the creature's blood offered. He waited for the opening, a distraction and then he seized his prize, lunging at the small and defenseless rodent as he grabbed the mouse with his parted jaws. The grimy taste was horrible in his mouth, but he bit down and jabbed his fangs into the writhing body and killed the mouse within seconds of his crushing bite.

"Bucky?" a voice firm and assertive said, jerking the cat's attention from its hunt. He rasped out the obvious question. "What are you doing?"

Steve, who had appeared behind Bucky, made his way around the feline until he was standing directly in front of his friend. A mouse was dangling in the cat's jaws, bleeding from its recent demise. The look in Bucky's eyes was more wild and brute-like than Steve had yet seen, and it troubled him.

"Buck, are you alright?" the super soldier asked, concern evident in his tone.

Bucky stood there, his body tensed and blue eyes widened, as he fought to recover his voice, "Steve," he seethed dropping the dead rodent from his jaws. He took an alarming step back, and bowed his head in disdain. "I didn't mean to do this..." He breathed trying to collect himself. "It just came over me..."

"It's okay, Bucky," Steve said, bending down. "It's not your fault, and you've done nothing wrong anyway. Do you want something to eat besides a nasty corpse? You can just ask for that kind of stuff, you know."

"It was a laspe of controlling instinct...That was all. I'm used to harming the weak and I'm capable of killing without any concept of doing it," Bucky spat indignantly, forgetting about the lifeless mouse at his paws and trying to break out of his stoic composer as he looked up at Steve.

It was strange to feel guilt shoot into his heart as he snapped his gaze back at the victim of his brutal programming of an assassin. He flattened his ears, and withdrew a step away almost to the wall. He opened his mouth and sighed, "Sometimes I get the feeling that I will never change who they made me into-I've been unmade so many times that I don't even feel alive." he admitted in a distant voice.

_"I want you to stay still for me for this little operation, Sergeant James Barnes," the nefarious voice of Armin Zola whispered in his ear with gruff undertone._

_Bucky straightened against the cold metal of the elevated table, teeth digging into a wooden stick, lifting his head and letting his shoulders fall back and relax under the tightness of the straps. He released deep concentrated breaths, staring at the dots of light reflecting over the cement wall before him, nearly blinking with the moisture open of his eyes. His pale blue irises were dilated from the harsh light streaming down from the hanging fixtures above his twitching body, his right hand jerked as the needles pierced into his frigid skin making his tensed muscles of his jaw lax as he maintained a stilled and statue- like posture. His eyes grew dormant and glazed as numbness took hold of his bones._

_"Now tell me if you can feel anything?" Zola hissed, lifting up his surgical tools from the cart that had been wheeled to his side. "I want to make sure that you are comfort before we begin the procedure." Bucky panted out heavy gulps of breath as the circular lights flicked on, nearly blinding him as figures loomed closer to the table, their bodies clothed in face and faces covered with a layer of fabric. In their hands were sawing and soldering tools attached to dangling wires that looped over pieces of metal plating gathered on a wooden table across from him._

_"No..." Bucky managed to stammer out as Zola reached over his long tresses of brown hair, holding his head up as he writhed against the table. His bare chest heaved out harsh breaths as the muscles grow firm when the cold and stale air of the room waved over his exposed skin. He could barely focus on his thoughts as another jab of needle punched in his forearm. He wanted to scream but the serum pumping in his veins made him voiceless. All he could do was surrender to the pain._

_Zola sneered, wickedly, driving his fingernails against the softness of Bucky's sculpt. "Scream all you want Sergeant Barnes...You will taste defeat once your pathetic and undisciplined mind becomes the use for HYDRA to control..."_

_An electronic shock surged up his arm and he cried out the only name that him from entering submission. "Steve!"_

Bucky flinched against the wall, his shoulder blades curved upwards as he swiped his claws into the air, avoiding his friend's hand as if Steve was holding something repellent at close proximity.

Steve instantly recoiled his arm, looking at Bucky with confusion and pity. Something had definitely triggered in Bucky's mind; Steve had seen it in the cat's clouded eyes. Steve did not dare to ask what it was since it had obviously been a painful memory, but he did his best to offer his friend some peace.

"Bucky, it's alright; you're safe." Steve swallowed the emotion building in his chest and continued. "I know that they broke you, unmade and remade you many times, but they did not destroy you. I can see it in your eyes, pal: defiance. You were always stubborn, Buck. If anyone in the world can break the bonds of HYDRA, it's James Barnes. You've just got to start believing it."

Those words barely registered. He clenched his muzzle into scolding expression. Kill. Kill. Kill. He jerked his head up in a violent manner, summoning whatever pitch of humanity he had in his detained voice. "No," he snarled in harsh words, slashing his metal paw begrudgingly at the dead mouse.

The stench of decay invaded his nose. It had become all too familiar to grasp, the thickening aroma caressed over his muzzle as he stiffened, he wanted to dig his claws into his head and stop the skull pounding images from emerging from the depths of his destructive mind. "I can't change.." he panted, saliva was dripping from his blood stained fangs. "Why are you so dumb to understand that truth?"

A smile tugged at Steve's lips. "I guess it's just who I am," Steve said softly. "You know, you once said that I was too dumb to run away from a fight. You told me that's the man you were willing to follow. Believing in you, Bucky Barnes, after all that HYDRA has done might be just as dumb as not running from a fight. But that's the man I am, and its the one who saved the world. I'd rather be dumb and do what's right than smart and without honor."

"That's the stupid." he shot back with livid animosity.

"It may sound stupid, Buck." Steve released a despairing breath, "It's the only way I know how to live."

The cat fell into silence, listening to the hidden dread in his friend's voice. The earnestness and determination was matched equally by pain and remorse on his chiseled features that it struck him to know that Steve was using hope to ease the twisting and binding pain that scarred both of their souls. The pit of his emptied stomach was growing as tightening knots of coldness weaved in his veins. He knew that running wasn't an option anymore, he couldn't run and hide from the darkness, that was a motive of a coward and Bucky Barnes wasn't a man who could easily taste defeat. He had to treat the situation as a battle plan, find the enemies location and hit them hard without being unseen.

"There are a number of safe houses location within the city," he spoke with firm cadence in his voice, sounding like his old self again. "Each one as I remember has information stored in the floorboards...Usually maps and encryption codes. Nothing, that will help me stop choking up fur balls, but it's worth a shot to gather the detail we need to figure out where HYDRA's ghost files are stored. If we can obtain those files, we might have a fat chance of discovering the old hags whereabouts." He managed to give Steve a weak faltering smirk before using his claws to draw a symbol of two snakes crawling over a skull in the snow. "I remember seeing this image before ...It's still unclear what it represents, but I know that evil created it and it wasn't HYDRA..." The ting in his voice grew darker. "It was something else..."

Steve grinned, feeling warmth cascade over his sore heart. This was much more like the Bucky he knew, and that was confirmation of the hope Steve had long cherished that his friend was indeed still there and fighting against HDYRA. And not only that, but now they had a lead, and they could form a legitimate plan. Having a resolute purpose would undoubtedly help Bucky, who was trained to complete missions.

"I'll do some research and try to find out something about the image," Steve said, trying to be as encouraging as possible. "And maybe you can look at some maps of D.C. and determine where exactly these safe houses are. Once we have all the necessary intel, we can actually make some headway with Operation Disenchantment."

"Operation Disenchantment?" Bucky parroted in a rasp. "I want to keep this in a small circle." He moved his paw in the snow with circular formation. "None of your SHIELD friends need to know about this, Steve."

"Don't worry, Buck," Steve said with a slight ghost of a mild chuckle. "I just thought you might find it easier to focus on our problem if we treated it like a mission. No one else needs to know what we're doing if you don't want them to. Besides, with your inside information, we shouldn't need anyone else's help infiltrating the safe houses, right?"

"That's right, Star-Spangled shorts," Bucky joked back, moving closer to him as more flecks of snow dusted over his black fur. "I think that's what I used to call you when you put on that uniform?"

So Bucky really did remember even minute details. Steve felt tears form in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. A big smile formed on his face, and he nodded eagerly. "You did."

Steve suddenly noticed something strange as he prepared to head back to the apartment. His forehead seemed to be warmer than usual, and his body felt heavy. Perhaps he was simply tired; a plausible option considering the fact that he had not slept for more than a few hours in a while. He tried to shrug off the feeling, especially since Bucky was clearly in one of his better moods, but it seemed slightly harder to think.

"You always teased me about my uniform," Steve said, his eyes focusing on those of the cat in an attempt to keep his mind engaged in the conversation. "Some things never change, I guess."

"Yeah," Bucky snorted back, with nonchalance in his tone. "Except me."

The litany of emotions scattered across Steve's chiseled exterior. Sadness, remorse and dismay quietly reflected in the pools of his deep blue eyes as he took in Bucky's devalued words that not only diminished his him, but also his promise he made to Bucky seventy years before HYDRA created an icy division between them. A passive and unrelentling posture finally took form. The super-soldier clenched his jaw and looked down at the distress black furred creature that his best friend had become. He felt downright conquered by the foreboding sense of losing Bucky again ; it was as if a vice grip seized his chest, each moment he dared himself to stare into those eidolic eyes looking up at him with revulsion welled deep inside. Staring into the snafued soul of his friend increase the strength of dread within him.

He had failed to save Bucky the last he needed him the most. He wouldn't allow his friend to suffer again.

Steve shook his head in a silent reverence. He looked once again into the cat's blue eyes; a steely resolve gleamed inside of them. "This transformation is not going to be permanent, Buck. I know that, and I think you know it, too. " He pressed his lips into a firm line, and drew out a long breath of ease. " No matter what you say, you are just as eager about finding the reverse as I am. You wouldn't be that way unless you knew, deep down, that there's hope."

The cat did not answer Steve, but he could not deny that he did hope. Steve stood to his full height and began walking back towards his apartment. "C'mon, Bucky," he called behind him. "We could both use some lunch. Besides," Steve faced his friend and felt a weak smile tug over his lips, "Those kittens are probably missing you."

With that, Bucky nodded and ambushed Steve's massive shadow with a graceful leap out of the snow, he kept himself aloof and followed the super-soldier up the stairs, doing his utmost best to cling onto strength and not to show weakness such as tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. So distracted he was by his own thoughts he did not hear an eerie voice poisoning the air with a rancorous incantation directed to Steve until he turned around and stared at a moving shade looming in front of a parked vehicle.

He paced in front of Steve on the third step near the door, and looked down at red drops, that had been clear and unmistakable blood, "Steve?"


	13. Chapter 13

_ _

_ _

_"...Steve?"_

An arctic chill swept through Bucky as his eyes stared intently at the drops of blood on the steps. A passive and yet unyielding demeanor took over him. The black cat reared his head slowly, sparing a glance at the line of dribbling maroon seeping from Steve's lips. His heart plummeted inside the pit of his stomach, and he felt numbness prickle through his bones. A dark and encroaching sense started to build as stood under the super-soldier's pensive gaze of blue and cringed at the sight of blood smearing Steve's rigid chin.

"What's happening to you, punk?" he was breathless and disquieted, each drop seemed to lessen his strength as he fought to hold everything together. Gathering himself up, Bucky dropped his head back down, his mind being plagued with spiraling thoughts of torment.

He was concerned for his best friend just like he had been since they were boys surviving on their own. "Steve, are you hurt? Did something happen to you while you were jogging?"

Steve could not respond. Something was horribly wrong; everything inside of him was burning with a searing fire of unquenchable pain. His bones were slowly moving out of joint, his organs being squeezed together. His hearing was fading; he thought he might pass out. But he was not so far gone that he did not hear one of his ribs break, the sound sending a sickening wave of nausea over him.

The shock of the horror had kept him perfectly still and on his feet, but he soon found that he could not longer stand. With a high pitched moan, he crumpled forward, the pain intensifying as his body connected with the hard stair case. Black splotches began to swam in his vision, and finally his tongue was loosed. He screamed.

"Steve! No!" Bucky screeched, his words coming out with a frantic pants of breath that made him cringe. His slender body jumped one step higher as he instinctively recoiled backwards from the Steve's hand reaching to grab his limbs. Fear rent in his soul, desperation to save his friend from the torment, pain and sickness.

"Steve," he stifled a sob of intermixed despair as his widened blue eyes glanced down at the blood staining over the lingering patches of snow under his paws. Weariness and dread threatened to ensnare him along with abashed needs to satiate the growing rage burning like liquid heat in his veins. He was trapped in weaves of panic, his small form trembled against the miserable cries escaping from his best friend's lips. _No, Steve. You can't leave me._ His heart scattered into pieces, he felt useless, he felt afraid. It was no wonder why the old hag turned him into a cat, he was cold to responding with other's pain. The cat inside wanted to bolt and try to hide while the soldier-part of him that remained to be James Barnes wanted to comfort the man he loved as a little brother from fading away from him.

"Bucky-" Steve tried to hold on to the cat, hoping that the pain won't become unbidden as he felt agonizing pressure seize his organs.

"This isn't you...Stevie...You never back down from a fight." The black cat placed his furry paw on the super-solider's arm. He held a stalwart and firm posture as he anchored Steve out of the red fog, bringing him back to the light. "Come on, punk, you've gotta this pain on the ropes...I'm not stronger as you are, but I'm just as stubborn. I'm not letting you go."

Bucky leveled his eyes with Steve's tear filled blue embers. "Don't let this beat you down, Rogers." Vexation masked his desperate tone. "Come on. I never known you to be a quitter, not even when you that you were nothing. Promised myself that I would let anything happen to you. So today, I'm holding that promise true and unbreakable; you got to keep on fighting for me."

Steve could barely hear anything his friend said, but he knew he was supposed to fight this. And he did; every ounce of will power in his body was diverted to keeping himself conscious and in resistance to the curse. But slowly his strength was sapped, and his body contorted ever further. Wild instincts, foreign to Steve's mind, forced the super soldier to his feet, and he half-ran half-crawled away from the apartment's entrance. Fear caused Steve to act without thinking; all he wanted was to get away from the pain.

"Steve!"

The world swayed from side to side as Steve ran. His vision was not constant; at some moments he could see nothing at all. All he was acutely aware of was searing pain that threatened to tear him apart. He was still letting out chaotic screams, but even in his miserable state, he could tell that they were not normal. His voice was coarse and deep, almost like a beast's. This only added to Steve's trauma and fear as the tiny hope of escaping a terrible fate slipped from view.

At last, running on his two legs was no longer possible, and he tripped, sprawling on hard, biting concrete. His feverish blue eyes fluttered open for a moment, taking in the alleyway in which he had fallen. _Good_. At least no one could see him in this state. Everything felt so wrong in his body that he imagined that he looked like he'd been run over by a train. His bones were all wrong, and his muscles had been torn from their ligaments. Blood ran freely from his lips.

Finally, Steve's will, which had been pushing desperately against the transformation, gave out. Coughing blood out of his throat for one last intentional breath, he embraced the sweet darkness of unconsciousness, his tense body going limp.

"Punk," Bucky called out for his best friend. It must of looked utterly ridiculous to the eyes of the public as the cat jumped off the steps, smacked his paws hard on the ice encased cement sidewalk and hissed tersely at the passing humans staring him down. "What are you looking at, jerk?" In the thick of emotions, he managed to swipe a paw at a letter carrier's pant leg.

His blood run hot and his vision swarm red in his burning state of strength and rage. His enhanced senses caught a vague whiff of blood and sweat that only fueled his predatory instincts as he quickly advance to the super-soldier's current position. His stomach sunk as he cautiously followed the footprints leading him to the narrow alleyway. Despite his senses zapping his blood like live wire, his ears picked up the sound of a monstrous growl coming from the umbra of row of upturned garbage cans. His blood went cold with realization as horror struck him down where he stood, and his eyes grew enlarged at the sight of Steve's large and twisted hand flopping in the snow.

"Steve," he whispered with heavy pants of breath; approaching the laden and marred body in front of him. "Can you hear me, pal?"

Steve's eyes snapped open against his will; the lovely oblivion of unconsciousness quickly speeding away. The pain returned, piercing his sense with new ferocity. He clenched his eyes shut and let out a long groan, though it sounded more like a low growl. As he clamped his jaws together, he felt something different about his mouth. His teeth were sharper than they had been, almost like fangs. Curiosity overcame the desire to curl up into a tight ball and shut out the pain, so Steve opened his eyes and looked at his outstretched arm.

Only it wasn't a hand any longer.

His fingers had shrunken and changed-were still changing-into small digits with claws. His arm was covered in golden course hair; in fact, it was fur. Were it not for Bucky's current state, Steve's mind would have totally rejected the information his eyes were relaying. However, he knew that this must be a result of the curse. He was transforming.

Though he could not see it, he could feel his bones and muscles moving into permanent places. The actions seemed tortuously slow and indescribably painful, the agony going on and on as Steve's body tried to conform to its new pattern. Last of all, Steve's skull gradually got smaller and smaller, pushing his brain and causing the utmost suffering. Finally he simply lost consciousness, unable to endure sensation any longer.

"Steve don't worry I'll find..."

The black cat reared unsteady step backwards with dishearten meow as Steve's massive paw did a vicious swipe at him. He could see the primal distress cloaking over his friend's blue embers that used to gaze back at him brotherly and determined. His angelic and chiseled face once a symbol of hope was being mortified into one of beast's exterior. His sharp canines bared as the smell of metallic laced with copper thickened in the snowy haze engulfing over their disheveled forms.

"No..." Steve released a breathless plea of what sounded like defeat. Everything began to whirl around him, sadistic voices, screaming of men being tortured.

Dark figures emerged from the recesses of his mind. He spared a glance down, and saw coppery- golden fur spreading over his arms, consuming his unblemished flesh, and hiding the vigorous muscle mass under the material of his clothing, coating his shaky hands and covering his massive body.

Constricting fire raked over his neck. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. His legs buckled. He enclosed his arms over his compacted abdomen. He writhed against the ground on his flat palms, and knees. Trepidation pounded like a hammer against his skull, numbness surged through his bones, he tried to look up at Bucky, instead all he saw were blurry blogs of gray.

"Buck…" He released a voice with a great of distress, lifting up a paw to reach for the cat like he had become his anchor while feeling like he was being swallowed up by ground underneath him.

Bucky felt the worming sensations churn within his tensed stomach. It was easily attributed by foreboding knots of dread, but then the sensations thickened in his veins, as he watched the super-soldier diminishing in size, still bigger than his feline body, almost canine... _Canine_ , Bucky thought with alarm as he recoiled and collided with the rough cement of the wall. He knew Steve had been attacked, his body compromised by the same form of morbid enchanted-either way he knew they weren't intimidating and powerful soldiers anymore. Just a couple of strays for HYDRA to collect and cage.

The cat parted his jaws, tongue felt thick when his spoke, "Okay, the important thing to do now…is to remain calm, Rogers."

Steve's deformed face tightened in agony; he screwed his eyelids shut, and coughed and gagged. His body fat decreased, thick muscles dissolved into slender limbs. Solidified claws emerged into bubbling fists of squirming flesh and fur, paws curled and contorted. "Remain calm?" he dejected, unleashing a abysmal growl which emitted from the back of his throat.

He felt the stirring of the animal inside him, a separate mind and will of his own awaking. He lowered his face into the ground as he felt the beast awaken underneath his flesh as it began to stir inside his throbbing bones. He felt his skin alternately become tight as the beast inside him shifted him around looking for a means of escape.

Steve creased his drenched brow, his tightened stomach fashioned sounds of torment. He gnashed his teeth, clamping his mouth shut, and grumbled under his erratic breath. His chest heaved with every forceful inhale and exhale.

"This is not a gunshot wound, Buck, it's something different. I never felt this way before…Is this what it felt for you?" He gritted, lowering his face into his torso, pained tears rolled over his temples. He whimpered like a dog in agony, his ears grew, and sharpened against shorten locks of blonde-ashen hair.

Bucky shot him a mystified stare watching his pointy ears moving upwards against the sides of his skull; his blue eyes grew wide enough, that they threatened to pop out of his sockets. "Steve…You're ears…They're…"

"I KNOW!" he snarled back, seething breath against his new set of canines, and instantly lifted his arm over his face. He tried to haul his weight back onto an uprooted stance, but instead the enchantment left him grounded on the dirt. His slender arms stretched out forward, nails grew out from his boots and merged into silver claws, and feet morphed into massive paws of an animal.

Steve winced, feeling the slope of his pointed nose break, blood dribbled over his lips. His nose crunched in the skin, and stretched into the length of a canine snout. His lungs exploded into a scream of dread, as eyes blurred with stinging tears. He lowered his head down once again, panting harsh intakes of air. He hissed, in the thrall of the painful transformation.

His bones twisted underneath his muscle and voice now carried a hint of a bewildered whimper. He staggered backwards, rubbing his side against the can of garbage; and he listened to a cold, merciless wind echo in his ears.

"Bucky, you have to get out here!" He growled in hardened distress, his backside burned as a golden bushy tail emerged from his pants. He looked at the black cat with tear filled eyes as his own eyes blurred and morphed into moonlit icy blue. "No," he roared, desperately trying to convince himself it was a nightmare.

A vile nightmare.

"I'm right here..." Bucky returned in a gentle tone. He knew there was a small possibly of a division between them, since Steve was turning into a dog and he was cat. The result of the aftermath could become dangerous. "I'm just keeping my distance."

Steve struggled to his knees, screaming in shrills in pain as he started to decrease in his straining abdomen. His once well-defined rock hard muscles were changed into furry patches of primal muscle. He pointed his head upwards to the sky; he smelt his own blood dripping him his brow as his body continued to evolve in horror. The once gorgeous, sharp, chiseled featured, and determined, resilient soldier-the First Avenger was being diminished into a dog.

Maybe he would be lucky, and survive a few nights without bullets from HYDRA snipers flying against his hide, and maybe he'd find way to free himself and Bucky from the curse.

Steve knew it was a form of wrathful magic almost the kind of stuff HYDRA searched over during the years of war—no science in a bottle could transform a fully grown man into a canines in matter of minutes. Then he realized as his torrent thoughts raced in his mind that the Avengers—Stark, Natasha, Thor, Bruce Banner—and his best friend, Bucky Barnes who be lost with Captain America leading them into the jaws of battle. He couldn't leave Bucky, not when the reformed Winter Soldier still needed his guidance. If he was trapped in this new vessel—he knew they would make him nonexistent in their memories—turn both him and Bucky into ghosts.

"I'm not leaving you, Steve." Bucky promised, watching the last vestiges of Steve's humanity become ensnared by the curse.

Finally, Steve felt his exhausted, slender body given into defeat, he rolled onto his back, his limbs shortened, as he desperately clawed at his shirt, and allowed his new golden coat to breathe. His head hit the ground, hair grew to his shoulders, and formed a mane touching his mid-back. His chest narrowed, neck thickened and aligned with his muscular frame. His lips fastened into a muzzle, and nose changed black and wet. His voice strained, becoming wild, and laced with fury as protested against the merciless curse engulfing his soul.

"Bucky…" Steve panted as he continued to change; his face and mouth grew out into a full cream furred wolf muzzle. He lifted up on front paw, and tried to reach out for him.

"Don't lose yourself….Urgh…Don't lose who you are, Buck," he choked out, and thrashed wildly as his slender body contorted, shifted and changed into muscular shape of a full size dog. The modern day Adonis, compassionate, and defiant soldier from Brooklyn was gone, all that stood on four legs was a displaced 89 pound dumbfounded husky mix. The only glimmers of his former self were the deep crystal blue eyes in his livid eyes and a white star in the center of his chest.

The woozy male dog struggled on his large paws, sniffing the air as he lifted his angular snout to the aloof feline. His blurry eyes narrowed at the pile of tattered and scraped clothing on the ground. The only remaining pieces of his humanity.

Steve moved closer to the cat, and nuzzled his face against Bucky's tensed shoulders, "Easy, Buck. I'm still here." He spoke in serene voice, and felt his heart beating wildly. "I'm not going to attack if that's what your thinking, pal?"

"If you can stop drooling on my fur I'll believe you, punk." Bucky flippantly responded, wishing for the feeling of his rifle inside of his hands...Paws...even his metal one. He wanted to hunt down and kill the hag who placed the dark hex on them. He wanted revenge. "I hope you have a plan, Steve, because I'm about to snuff out the witch's spark life with my claws...You do have a plan or are you too busy dealing with your fleas?"

"Fleas?" Steve growled in a quite and concerned voice, but was then slashed with a brush of frustration. He was trying to piece everything together. His vision was still bleary from the after effects of the transformation. His muzzle crinkled a bit as he gaped at the cat, "Just because we look different..." He cleared his throat, and narrowed his light blue eyes at his large paws. His heart plummeted in his stomach, and yet, he felt a shred of grace land back inside of his new body. Even through he wouldn't admit that it had become devastating for his resilient spirit to feel trapped inside a half-breed, he managed to hold a small illusion of a broken smile. His blue eyes shined with tears that leaked over his fur.

The golden furred husky stalked closer, and placed his paw on the cat's arched back, Bucky jerked a little in response of contact."It doesn't change the soldier's that we are, Buck. Fleas or no fleas." he spoke with a resolute firmness in his voice. "We have to treat this curse has a mission. We know the price of freedom will high, but I'm willing to pay any measure of it just to give you back a life to call your own once again, pal."

"How could this happen to us, Steve?" Bucky let out a small tearful sob. "I can understand that I deserve this busy my past...You're a good a man, the best I've ever known. I don't understood why they targeted you with this stupid curse. You can pretend be strong and brave as Captain America, and believe in all the crap about hope..." He hissed against his needled point fangs. "Once you feel the betrayal of your mind...There will be no going back...No more shield. Nothing...You'll be a mutt without name someone can call back to you when you're lost in the streets-"

"I don't want to hear that," Steve cut him off, barring his canines. He couldn't even process his words. He was too absorbed with the realization that him and Bucky will be stuck as animals for the rest of their days. He turned his head away as he stared blankly at street It was almost like for the first time in seventy years his strength left him.

"Stop being a hard ass, Rogers," Bucky told him flatly, with dampened eyes. "Just stop pretending that you save the world. We're not soldiers anymore. Just fur balls who can't survive with adapting. You're a big, and warm dog and I'm a cat shivering in his own fur. If we want to finish this mission, we need to have each others backs."

Steve shook the despair from his head, trying to think straight. It was no use accepting defeat. Turning to his friend, his heaved out a sigh.

"You're probably right, Buck," Steve said quietly. "I might lose everything and become a worthless and friendless mutt on the streets. But if I believe that, my fate as such is sealed. I remember my mom used to say that if you believe you'll fail, you will. I have to cling to hope, Bucky. It may be that the odds of us reversing this curse are a thousand to one. But that just means that there is a chance.

"I've heard from a reliable source that in the end, only three things remain: faith, hope and love. If together we have all three of them, I bet our odds of beating this curse are better than a thousand to one. And if you don't trust hope Bucky, then at least trust me. I am your Captain, after all."

Bucky saw everything beyond the canine's piercing stare, all his pain and delusions of hidden truth he tried to keep veiled. Steve had always been indomitable, steadfast and brave when engaging any situation.

Steve was invincible, but to Bucky he was still just that little shrimp who he used to huddle against the cushions of their makeshift forts, and sleep with ease nothing that his friend was protecting him every hour. It was his job to take care of Steve, a lifetime vow to ensure that he would solely guard him trough the thick of battle.

Seeing, Steve trapped in a new body, a broad muscled canine with striking ice blue eyes and a bushy tail, had been the biggest feeling of weakness he had ever felt. It was still unbelievable that he been transformed and that his best friend carried the weight of the curse with him as well. He need to hold on to the hope in his friend's voice and never break the unerring loyalty they shared as blood brother. He had to take on the mantle of a soldier again; fight against the odds and forged a new dynamic with Steve.

Bucky looked at the dog again, feeling a jolt of power. Over the low brush of frosty wind rattling through his bones, he sensed another familiar presence somewhere in the city. It was a feeling he only grasped during those days when he had been wounded, tortured and broken. It lulled him to move near a stairwell, he jumped on a step, and continued climbing until he reached a high point. Of course, he wasn't fretting about the height.

Steve's protective blue orbs stared up with a puzzling face, and tried to grab the cat's attention, "Buck, what's wrong?" he asked with concern, but Bucky was being stubborn as ever.

All the Winter Soldier felt in those moments was flame burning inside him, a source of warmth and recollection to extinguish the awful, painful doubt within him, doing his best to resistant his awaken emotions as his blue eyes; he passively gazed out, and beyond the wintry world around him. One name -a beautiful name that became his hope and freedom in the dark bowels of HYDRA, it escaped from his mouth as his heart pounded with urgency to find her.

"Anna..." His moisten eyes fell to the descending snowflakes.


	14. Chapter 14

_ _

_"James," he heard her gentle voice whisper in the haze of falling snow. The cold air ripped through the Kevlar material of his jacket as his soul moaned to feel her touch. Her delicate hands splayed over his broad chest, radiating heat within rigid muscle. Warmth spread into his skin. The remnant of feverish sweat slicked over the path of her stroking fingers. They were close- alone and free from disapproving and inhumane eyes of HYDRA. He couldn't help it, he stared deeply into her coffee pools of shadow and pain. To kiss her would be forbidden, since he wanted to seal those three words: I love you, making them sear on her full scarlet lips, and he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but given the circumstances of their life, she was just an asset -a slave._

_He took a step back, feeling unbalanced, and out matched by his betraying emotions. The aching sense of attachment wouldn't leave him be, and he bit hard on his lip. Her pulse elevated. Confusion masked over his pale blue irises as he drank her lithe and curvaceous body inward. Black leather, combat boots and long mahogany hair billowing off her trim shoulders. She was a dream-freedom and life._

_"Is everything alright with you," she asked with a evident tone; and gave him an inscrutable stare, breaking through his steely mask of stubbornness. "You seem quieter than usual..."_

_A cold touch of winter was reachable to his heart; he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breath seized in his chest, and then he swallowed, recollecting himself. A misty look took his indignant eyes. "I'm fine."_

_Anna mashed her teeth into her bottom lip, unwillingly chancing another step forward. After a heartbeat her chest softly collided with his Kevlar armor. "I know when you're lying to me."_

_He ignored her, pushing her away from the danger. His eyes started to burn again as he looked over her shoulder, catching glimpses of encroaching headlights reflecting against the mounds of snow barriers around them, and threaded his metal fingers in the mass of her dark hair, he drooped his gaze down and then he stared wondrously into her coffee orbs._

_He had to let her go._

_"I scouted a clear passage for you to take. They won't see you slip into the shadows, Anna."_

_"Come with me, James," Anna implored, her brown eyes gleaming with desperation. "You have given everything...It's time to run."_

_His obscured face became stoic, heart fluttered with hesitation. "If I run they will kill you...I can't risk your life. This is your chance of freedom and I suggest you take it." He fastened a pistol into a leather strap buckled across her hip. "It doesn't have much fire power, but it keep you safe when engaging with the enemy. Remember one bullet in the head and another in the chest-easy points of entry." He clasped his arms around her trim waist, holding her securely against him. His torso jerked with spasms, and his face creased with unbidden anguish. His full lips pressed into a colorless line as he looked into her darkened eyes. The fight of regret and anger bled out of him-he didn't want to watch her disappear. "Always keep your emotions in check..."_

_She didn't answer him at first. She closed her eyes and lay her gloved hand over his unshaven jaw. "Likewise."_

_He looked at her with deaden blue eyes, the light had been sucked into the black abyss of his gaze. Taking a step back, he whispered out a promise, becoming more self-aware for his devotion towards her. " I will find you..." Inside, the man-James Barnes, HYDRA tried to butcher refused to live another lifetime of being alone. It cut into him deep knowing that he didn't prove his love to Anna, he would lose her._

_A dull and hollow pain split into his chest._

_Anna leaned forward, brushing his sweaty tresses off hair of his broad forehead, and pressed a warm kiss over his chilled skin. He blinked, didn't speak, and she looped her arms over his shoulders. Embracing him for a long moment to feel his heart beating against her. "And I'll be waiting as always."_

It took him awhile to grasp his feline existence; he felt like a marred stray, looming the streets and gathering information of programmed memory. He wasn't the same soldier. He was a nameless wraith; detached from the world around him. His blue eyes turned gray under the ambiance of shadow, and his slender body moved through the cracks and barricades of his new world. He felt isolated. His friend's words calmed his restless spirit for a little awhile, but he knew the rudimentary of truth-he wasn't to change back into his five-eleven stature of intimation and enhanced strength. He wasn't going to find the woman he loved, she was a ghost to him. Sadly as it seemed, he needed to focus on the mission-protecting those mewling and motherless babies from any threatening force. He knew they were defenseless and small; they wouldn't survive with him-unless he found a female cat and allowed her to raise them. It was the only option he had left-he wasn't father material.

_You're a hybrid of organic and inorganic perfection._

Whoever he was before-James Buchanan Barnes, that man was gone. He was cursed; his senses had been altered to inhale toxic plumes of steel, blood and gun powder. That's all consumed him was flames of hatred the burned through his bones as remorse ignited inside. The only thing which kept him from falling deeper into the void with the gentle warmth of Steve's massive canine body. He could hear voices around him, but the waves of human connection failed after another veritable assault of mind-numbing laspes of confusion.

_You're name is James Buchanan Barnes._

Under the shadow of the incognito transformed super-soldier, Bucky tilted his head up, training his icy blue orbs on the rattling fire escape. He couldn't abandon the kittens; they are young and defenseless. It felt stupid-uncharacteristic to his hard core exterior that he cared for the mewling and motherless babies. He questioned his own malice filled heart, thinking maybe it was test of restoring his humanity.

Right now, Bucky was downright lost -reaching an impasse of choice and action; he had made a promise to the kittens that he would protect them. A soldier never breaks his promise, no matter the cost.

Releasing a frustrated breath, colored by vexation he looked back at the golden furred husky. A dog, and also a cat's worst enemy, but not Steve. He knew that his best friend would never turn on him.

"Are you okay?" Steve pestered, wobbling closer, barely remaining on all fours.

Bucky gave a stoic nod, fighting the urge to give into despair. He looked into the light blue of the dog as he parted his jaws and executed out his plan. "We need to those little fur balls out of your flat. They are a distraction to this mission; I need you to scout the area and find me a female." He paused for a moment deadpanning, and then staring into the daring gleam in his friend's bright eyes. "Hey," he seethed, fur raising. "I know what you're thinking, punk. I'm not looking a feline dame to play cat and mouse with, I need a female to become a mother for them. It's the least I can do.."

The dumbfounded husky nodded absently at the black feline, weakness of the curse affected his body. His bulky mass trembled against the frigid air. Despite having layers of fur, he was still cold from the aftermath of the transformation. His willpower was collapsing as foreign thoughts of chasing a tennis ball, picking though garbage and begging for scraps from local restaurants invaded his mind. He need something to chew on-the control his urges. "Okay," he panted out, wildly. "So, you're plan is...kittens and mother cat...safety?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much all I've got, dog breath." Bucky teased, glancing back at the fire escape and busy street around them.

It was a matter of habit that stuck with him since he operated alone on missions on maintaining visible contact for the acquired target from concealed places of ruined buildings, rooftops and balconies. His was a highly skilled marksman used for -fieldcraft, infiltration, special reconnaissance and target acquisition. His stealth and efficient methods of eliminating governmental figure heads was legendary in the KBG files-he was an assassin and enforcer. He was the Winter Soldier ( Зимний Солдат).

"I think we should take the stairs that lead to the balcony. I'm not sure if my body is agile enough for the climb. I'm much bigger than you, Buck." he said, cocking his head to the stairway, he was making it obvious of his size compared to Bucky's sleek cat form.

"Not a problem, Cap. I can do this mission alone. Just watch my back," Bucky sighed out, long and deep. He balanced on his paws, raring into pounce and springing stance. He scanned the area for what seemed like the thousandth time with his sharp eyes, he waited for his muscles and pulse to become in sync.

His long tail swayed over the snow, hind legs sprang back and he shot off the stairs like a bullet leaving a gun. He avoided any unseen glares of stray dogs lurking in the alleyway and took a powerful leap over three steps, thrusted forwards by his small limbs and climbed the last row of steps. With another wide span jump, he landed on his feet and hauled his slender form up to the balcony ready to stalk to the glass doors-until a his elusive presence had been sighed by a scruffy white poodle, obstructing him over his objective point.

Extracting out a threatening hiss, Bucky arched his wilted back up and retracted his claws as he positioned himself into a defense stance of attack. He trained his rabid and darkened blue eyes on the small dog. "Listen, pal, this is one cat you don't want to mess with..." he warned, holding his ground in front of the annoying mutt yipping at him. To much of his chagrin, Bucky surpassed his feral instincts, and swiped his paw into the snow, dusting the poodle with a chilling response."Make another move and I will show why a mutt should never corner a cat," he dared.

The sound of clicking claws sounded from the stairwell as the husky raced up the steps. Steve soon reached the top and bared his teeth at the yipping white dog, his hair standing up on his neck and back. He let out a good series of fierce barks, trying to both scare the poodle and distract his own mind. His instincts were begging him to tear the scruffy rat to shreds.

"Shut up and get out," he growled at the poodle, taking a threatening step towards it.

The cowardly dog let out a yelp of fright at the massive husky's approach and scrambled to get traction against the slick ground before sprinting away in the opposite direction, howling in fright all the way. Steve couldn't help but give his friend a cocky smile as the whines of the poodle fell out of earshot.

"You're welcome," he said, his chin high in mock pride.

"I had him on the ropes..." It was the first thing Bucky said, with a irritable hiss rattling through his vocals, before a small cocksure smirk cracked his muzzle, which veiled a hint of brotherly gratitude.

"I know you did," replied Steve, glancing down at his friend with memories flooding his thoughts. Looking into Bucky's blue eyes, Steve could almost forget all that had happened to them, even now. Bucky was still his brother, and nothing could ever change that.

"You want me to stay here or go with you?" Steve asked, turning his mind back to the mission.

Bucky released a slow breath. "Did you lock the balcony door?" he unnervingly asked, lifting his metal paw off the wooden boards, and then retracted his claws out. "Knowing you, I'm guessing you did, which means I have to break in your flat by my own methods." He roved his steely eyes, and regarded the to the glass doors with an uncertain gaze, before snapping his vision back to his paw. "It should be easy enough..."

"Yes, I did lock it," Steve replied, trying to hide the fact that he was glad Bucky felt knowledgeable enough to predict his patterns, even ones as small as locking doors. "Try not to make too much noise; barking dogs is one thing, but broken glass could startle a neighbor. Be careful."

Bucky stiffened his posture, " Do you trust me, Steve?" he asked, his voice sincere, but fading with doubt.

"Of course I do, Buck," Steve said, his voice as adamant as his statement. "I only wanted to remind you to be cautious." A smirk crept up Steve's face, and he again assumed a sarcastic tone. "We both know how flighty and inclined to ridiculousness you can be, my friend."

Bucky gritted his fangs, his blue eyes burned with fever. He swerved his body close to the doors, baiting out a heated breath of bottled aggression as his metal claws sliced over the glass. He fought against rage clotting in his veins, and whispered with calamity laced in his throat. "When the hag or whatever she is called placed this rotten curse on me-I ever imagined you would become apart of this fight." He moved his paw in a circular motion, shift and precise as the metal etched in the glass-creating a hole big enough for him to fit his slinky body through to grab the kittens.

"It's always been about the next mission...Not about suffering in this body." He deadpanned out a hardened breath. He dared a glance at his reflection-all that stared back at him as a visage of a ebony furred cat with a tinge of brown to resemble a small mane. The only familiar of his human self with the icy blue eyes and metal limb. "I can't give up the fight..There's always hope. "He turned his head and looked at the husky with a humble gleam...You taught me that, punk."

"But you taught it to me long before, back we were just a couple of kids in Brooklyn," Steve returned, his smile lighting up his whole furry face. "And you also lived it out. There was never a bully that could beat me up without you coming to the rescue. You were hope for me; as good a friend as they come. And now, we've got to be hope for each other. If we can do that, this mission will be a piece of cake."

"I can see you're following your gut," Bucky derided back, straightening up on his hind legs, and encompassing his paws against the glass. He pressed hard, but the thick panes wouldn't budge. Grumbling under his breath, "I'm thinking I miscalculated my body weight and the thickness of the glass." His expression fell disquiet. "Great, where's a gun when you need one..."

"I'm heavier; want me to do it?" Steve inquired, asking the obvious.

There was the disturbance of sound -approaching danger marching on the ice covered sidewalk and the clinking of guns as bullets jingled inside the hollow steel.

They were being hunted.

"Steve wait a second..." Bucky gasped, sensing impending danger. He drew a deep breath. There was a hidden truth behind the availing circumstance. He figured it all out. Corruptible. His breath hitched in the back of his throat; confused, but not blind to scheme HYDRA was playing against them. Extraction. Super soldier blood. Project: Rebirth. It was all making sense-the reason of the transformation was to pump Steve dry -drain the serum when he was not in human form.

When he couldn't fight with his fists and shield. "Steve, listen to me..." Bucky hissed, struggling on his paw and biting his lip. "This is a trap. You're the target, the one they want." He digressed, not a hint of lenience. He cocked his head to the direction of the alley and gave a sour snarl. "You need to get out here quick as possible once you break the glass. Find a safe house and wait for me. I can't explain it. You need to trust me...It's a risk," he shrugged. "I'm used to playing the dangerous game."

"I never run from a fight, Buck," Steve breathed.

Every single part of the super-soldier rejected the idea of leaving Bucky. How could he afford to risk loosing his friend, especially with danger around? But he trusted both Bucky's instincts and his plans. And obeying without argument would help to strengthen Bucky's belief that Steve was willing to put faith in him. He nodded.

"Please! For me?" Bucky lowly pleaded with his ghostly blue eyes. "You're not in top shape to fight-" He lowered his head, and flattened his metal paw over the boards. With a surge of distilled pain, erupting inside him in its unrelenting form he shook slender body, trying to ease the knots of dread churning in his blood flow. "Listen to me..." Bucky finished in a gravelly voice; his eyes focused on the darkened apartment. "I've got your back. Now do what you do best, and get out of here!"

"Okay," Steve breathed fearfully, muzzle wrinkled with harrowing dread and his heart sped up. His sharpened senses tried to ascertain the danger Bucky had noticed. It felt like old time with his Brooklyn brother. They are ensnared into another battlefront. Freedom and surival was at a high cost. He had to take a stand. At the moment blood in his veins was brewing despair. "But what safe house should we meet at?" he asked quickly, not wanting to waste any time. As he waited for a reply, he took a few steps back to gain momentum for his coming shove against the glass.

"Anywhere." Bucky replied, his voice laden with panic, watching the glass scatter over the floor. He had an entrance. "Just find a place with a roof. I'll find you."

The husky nodded quickly and immediately dashed off. He sprinted down the stairs, and although he did not see anything out of place, he did begin to feel a sense of dread, as though a danger were hanging over him. He crossed a street, causing a car to screech to a halt. The sound hurt his ears, but he ignored both it and the fact that nearly been run over. He needed to focus. His eyes squinted as he tried to locate any place matching Bucky's request.

Steve thought he would never spot a roof upon which he could climb; but finally he spotted a building that would suit him. An apartment about three blocks away from his own had a fire escape reaching all the way to the top, and he headed towards it as fast as he could. The alleyway smelled of rotting trash, and for a moment, Steve's instinct wanted him to sniff out and examine the exact specimens contained in the broken down dumpster. He shoved these ideas aside as soon as they appeared, and he instead focused on the stairs.

The building was several stories high, and it took a few minutes to reach the top. But at last Steve scrambled over the edge and sat down, his tongue hanging out as he panted heavily. When he had rested a couple minutes, he stood to his feet and carefully neared the edge of the roof, looking down on the street and trying to see his own apartment building, hoping that he would get a glimpse of either the source of danger or Bucky.

He saw neither.

Bucky was extra cautious.

In silent and ghostly steps he moved through the apartment. Trepidation was running livid through his tiny skull; he stalked closer to the gleaming shield prompted against the wall. His metal paw slowly traced over the alloy and eagerly lifted it to the center star. He felt failure prick in his veins-his best friend was everything he wanted to become-a good soldier, friend and protector. He remembered fragments of memory of him and Steve huddled, and shivering together under a threadbare of blankets in their makeshift fort in his old bedroom in Brooklyn. He hated it when the little punk was ill with asthma or the constant threat of pneumonia or rheumatic fever the purged Steve's small heart with an irregular beat. There had been a heaviness on his heart-doubt and fear that Steve wouldn't survive the night. Through their struggles of living alone, they never lost faith into each other, yeah, they had it rough at time-empty stomachs and melting candles as light, but he fought his way through the endless haze of poverty,and gave Steve a better home and sacrificed his dreams to ensure that his best friend prevailed to fight another day.

_You ain't going to quit on me, punk._

Scanning his trained blue eyes around the massive bed, he noticed a heap of blankets thrown to one side and a little black paws poking out. _Targets found_. The Winter Soldier persona of his mind affirmed as he advanced closer to the prime objective point.

"Hey," his vacant voice slurred into a tentative whisper; he lowered his body and waited for the dozy kittens to awake from their nap. To his stubborn and impatient digression, they didn't budge-almost like they were purposely ignoring him. "Both of you come here now, that's an order." he sounded with firmness coloring his deep voice.

It brought back memories of when he was the young defiant and watchful sergeant of the 107th infantry division-Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe, Falsworth, raiding a small Italian town under seized by German forces.

_"Fall back, Dugan. They've got us covered!" Sergeant Barnes affronted, diving into a mud filled ditch as blue flame engulfed the murky terrain. His face was slopped with mud as his blue eyes locked on the rolling tanks swerving their big guns towards the blockade of his battalion. He blinked the haze out of his feverish gaze-staring at a weird symbol painted on the black metal-HYDRA. "We've got to move...There's no sense of staying in this mud hole like sitting ducks waiting for reinforcements." He turned to Gabe, and pointed his frigid hand at the radio pack. "Call it in..."_

_"Bucky, behind you." Dugan yelled in hurried response, as he straightened his brain bucket over his large (thick) skull, and ducked into the trench. He pulled out a grenade from a compartment in his vest, and pulled out the pin with his gritted teeth. Once Barnes gave him the nod, "I hate these guys," he digressed out a long sigh, and the tossed the explosive clear and in front of a line of German soldiers closing in on their position._

_The young sergeant rammed his back against the solid wall, every muscle in his protested against the awakening pain. Blood dribbled from his nose and over the arch of his firm lips as he felt the aftershock of an concussive blast vibrate through the hollow ground. This was a suicide mission. They were unprepared and the last line of defense between the Nazi empire. He felt the guilt prick in his bones. He had led these good men to their demise-the burden of their lives felt like dead weight on his shoulders. This was the price of freedom-the sacrifice to hold a barrier of the Atlantic and Pacific._

_In these dire moments, his defiant spirit became downgraded as he listened to the screams of young soldiers echo in the thickness of smoke. He needed a sliver of hope to break him out of the illusions of death-he needed skinny and stubborn headed Steve Rogers to led him out of this hellhole he had fallen into to when he offered his body and heart to the uniform. Reclaiming his strength, as he looked at the scribble the little punk gave to him of an eagle holding the American Flag in it's talons, Barnes cracked a weak smile on his face, and chuckled hollowly-Steve always had his back. "Dugan, we need haul our boys out. I do cover fire..."_

_"Bucky, don't be fool. You'll never survive one of those blasts." Dugan shot back, shielding his massive body over Gabe Jones as they climbed up the trench wall, ducking and avoiding the blinding canon blasts of a unknown weapon turning men into piles ash within seconds. He set his gray eyes on Barnes, and then shook his head. "If I don't see you trailing behind...I'm coming back and pulling your stupid behind out of here. I mean it Barnes..."_

_The dark haired soldier felt a cocky smirk ghost over his mud swathed lips. "That's one thing you should know about Brooklyn boys..We're always stupid."_

After a few moments of fighting his tetchy nature, Bucky descried the small kitten gingerly crawling out of her hiding spot. Her icy blue eyes locked on him as she cocked her head and meowed for her brother to awake up. Inside his feline vessel, Bucky felt his heart twinge as he crept with slow steps to the blankets and looked at the babies with intense malignant of harrow. Bucky wanted to feel accepted. He wanted purpose too, and identity-something he could have without the barriers of HYDRA blockading around him.

Taking a shaky breath, Bucky redeemed his pledge and quickly grabbed the female with his jaws, lifting her from the confides of warmth, and then scooped up the sleeping male-carrying both kittens in his mouth the cat darted out of the apartment the moment he heard a voices-familiar and gruff Russian tones executing orders outside the door.

Steve heard the whiz before he felt the impact of the dart. As soon as he felt the tiny needle pierce through his thick skin, he instinctively rolled back, away from the street. But by then, it was too late. Quickly glancing down, he saw the dark sticking into his right shoulder. He bent down his head and pulled out the offending shaft, though he knew by the sudden change in his thinking and vision that whatever had been in the needle was already invading his bloodstream.

Many thoughts raced through his head, but it was now so hard to think that he could hardly focus on any one idea. Since he'd been shot with a dart rather than a bullet, he was probably reacting to some sort of tranquilizer, not a fatal poison. That was both good news and bad news. Good that he wasn't about to die. Bad that he was about to loose himself to unconsciousness while in the presence of enemies who both knew where he was and obviously wanted to get him.

His vision was fading quickly, but he still had enough function to move sluggishly toward the steps. He looked over the edge and was able to see two armed agents at the bottom of the stair case he had climbed. They were on their way up.

With what resolve and strength he had left, Steve quickly searched for possible escape routes. He was comforted by the fact that he was still conscious. The serum must be at least somewhat resistant to tranquilizers, though that would hardly matter if he was shot again. To his dismay, Steve found no way off the roof besides jumping, and he wasn't about to go out that way. Instead, he hobbled back to the side of the building with the fire escape and waited.

The first HYDRA agent was not expecting any sort of resistance, so he was unprepared for the fierce, though uncoordinated attack that Steve launched against him as soon as he appeared on the roof. The husky sank his teeth deep into the man's leg, and he thrashed out wildly with his paws, trusting that he would at least inflict some damage. He let out a loud, gargled howl in hopes that it might alert Bucky to the danger.

As he had expected, his fight was short lived. Another dart just like the first suddenly hit him in one of his hind legs, and his strength was sapped. His heavy, muscular body wobbled for second before crashing to the ground. His eye lids felt so heavy, and soon darkness consumed his vision. His last thought was a prayer that Bucky would get away.

"Bucky," he moaned, giving one last effort to rise. He could not stir. "Bucky," he said again, though the word was slurred as he fell into unconsciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

 

**{Chapter 15}**

* * *

Bucky carried the kittens in his mouth, stalking through the darkness of the city, navigating the many twisting passageways, sidewalks and backstreets at dangerous speed. He rapidly sprinted, down the narrow alleyways, avoiding the obstruction of heaps of decomposing trash that smelt of rotten fish and something his mind couldn't detect. He stuck to the shadows, black fur blended well of the surroundings, trying to find somewhere he was sure Steve would be hidden.

He tried to distance himself from the main streets, to keep the babies safe from the danger, and kept to the vacant parts until he reached a point of being untraceable. He tried searching for a safe house, shelter them from the unseen eyes of HYDRA.

The bad part of the city.

Exhaling shakily, Bucky stumbled upon a decaying stairway attached to derelict condemned apartment, with broken windows, such boarded with split wooden planks that covered and plugged the gaps. The walls appeared to be crumbling into shards, the brickwork shoddy and breaking off the rotting foundation.

The wooden steps were uneven and unsafe, boards were missing. The roof was collapsing—swallowed inward with broken beams hanging within the web of wires poking from the makeshift plaster. It wasn't fit to even enter—he was certain rats didn't even scurry inside. But somehow he knew it was the only shelter to conceal himself from the outside and from the armed operatives trailing his movements.

He couldn't pick up Steve's scent for some odd reason, almost like cold air had erased it. Quickly, he darted up the stairs which lead to the second floor, to a small balcony which served as a resting spot as he gently placed the kittens down. Knots of dread twisted in his veins which generated from the high levels of panic and adrenaline he withheld from the moment he heard familiar voices speaking in Russian outside of Steve's flat.

He leaned against the step, blue eyes focused, and slender body pressed against the wood. His rigid muscles seized under the drenched fur as sleet covered the area with frail wetness. His long tail twitched and curled against his hind legs. He listened to audible rumbles of their bellies, and instinctively lowered his head down, nudging their bodies with his muzzle.

Resisting to feel his affectionate side emerge within contact of their tiny faces pushing against him. "Stay still!" Bucky insisted with a hissing voice, keeping the whilst kitten wobbling in the snow close to his paws. The timid female manged to wiggle her way out of the barriers of snow he created to keep her from wondering into the bustling traffic. He stayed rigid in the same pliant stance with pale blue eyes focused on the balcony above them. He could feel it in his gut, there was some form of nourishment residing in the kitchenette area-either milk or fish. People were living in the building. He detected human sweat, sizzling bacon and whiskey. He had to act fast, and effectively use his new methods of infiltration and complete the objective.

"Worth a try," the cat grumbled under his breath. His pensive blue eyes landed on the top stairs leading to the door swaying off broken hinges. A surge of energy flashed through him. He scaled the stairs with cautious steps and great agility, bounding up to the door, the ambiance of shadow was present as he did a slinky walk inside the emptied room. His paws patted on the creaky floorboards and tail straightened up as he began his search for food. A sink full of unwashed dishes reeked and roaches crawling over the plates, drawn to the sickly and unclean smell. A grimace crossed his face as he averted his gaze away from the sink. Disgusted and mortified."Now, that is just gross..."

Bucky's eyes darted methodically around the room, nothing resembled food. He had to clear out and find another kitchen to raid. Moving in slow calculated steps, he reached the door of the apartment with a yellow police tape danging from the wooden frame, giving the trespassers the impression that murdered had taken placed a few months back, there were signs of blood splatters lingering on the floor and torn pieces of clothing, but he ignored the waves gloom that seemed to crash against his slender form and felt his defensive respond to unknown danger.

"Get out of here you worthless street filth!"

Bucky hissed against the oppressive hand that reached out from his neck by a patron sitting in the darkness. His ears flattened sideways as anger boiled in his blood. Tail thrashed back and forth and pupils constricted into intense black as he looked at the attacker. Instincts controlled his body language like a relax, his back arched and fur stood on its end-his aggressive nature kicked in as he stared at the ragged man slumped in the corner, bearded and dazed by whiskey consumption. An overload of it. The black cat stood his ground and when the stranger tried to snatch him by the neck, Bucky swiped his claws against exposed calloused flesh. He mustered enough strength to defend himself.

The man's arms thrashed at him in the wake of confusion, yanking against the fur. "Urgh...You little-"

Bucky's mind was addled, he followed his feline instincts, slashing his claws with a vicious attack and not relenting back. He glared harshly at the man with his cold blue eyes. Murderous intent darkened into his ebony pupils. He caught the scent of blood. That was all he needed to cut loose and show the man that he was still the Winter Soldier. His gaze became still and livid as he listened to the blood pulsing in his targets veins.

He watched the man asses the wound, and then circled with slow and calculating steps. His muzzle scrunched, and fangs barred. He was just waiting for an opening to make his lethal attack. The directive was to sink his claws into the weakness point of the neck. "You know I was holding everything back, because there were kids present. Now, that I'm alone with you ugly..." He manged to form a brazen smirk with his mouth. Claws dug into floorboards and his body crouched low as he readied for the pounce. "I think it's going to get dangerous in here real quick." he envisioned how the fight would end.

Death.

"No," His unsettled tone became distressed as his eyes looked at the spatters of blood on the floor; his heart raced rapid, his fur tensed, his blood heated. No...I'm a soldier not a killer. HYDRA made me kill...I fight and defend lives."

His blood ran cold and dread twisted in his stomach. The programming of the assassin urged him to strike at the man. The curse, the destroyed lives...Steve...Captain America...Friendship.

His friendship.

"Oh no," Realization crept upon him as his panicked blue eyes looked down at the furry black and metal paws...His inorganic limb twisted. The images and flashes of memory began to add up in his mind and it was forced with dissemblance that Bucky stood his ground on all fours and fought a warring conflict between humanity and order.

"Fight it, Barnes," he told himself. "Become the good soldier not the killer."

The sordid man moved his stubby hand with encroaching fingers to the shard of glass near his boot, a sadistic grin played across his pale lips as he glared down at the dazed cat. "You know I heard cats been profit. People pay a lot of money for you fleabags...Especially you Blackie." He gripped the shard, and pointed it at Bucky, with murderous intent before turning his gaze to the balcony." I wonder if you have any little friends out here..Maybe a family."

Kittens.

Like a bullet discharging from a gun, Bucky released a raw screech, "Stay away from them!" He attacked his aggressor, jumping against the man's fleshy shoulder, and lashed at the throat with his metal claws, fast and sharp.

Blood had been exposed from the gashes, and just before the cat could deliver a killing swipe, the screaming man straightened off the floor and left the apartment in a frantic dash leaving Bucky glaring back in a victorious stance.

Although he wouldn't admit it, for the first time in days, Bucky felt like his old self.

It didn't take him long to raid a cupboard and grab a can of tuna. He checked the expiry date before vaulting over the apartment and back to the hungry kittens huddled together in a pile of snow. "Here you go, fur balls," he placed the can in front of them, using his metal claws in circular motion to serve as a can opener.

The male was the first to eat.

Bucky turned his focus on the female, shivering and timid. For a moment he just stared at her, until she wobbled close to him. Then, she tucked her body against his chest, she purred and nuzzled against his soft fur and strength, and the kitten knew she was safe again. There. In the falling snow. Protected by a cat who'd sworn to keep her away from harm.

A pull of affection tangled his heart strings, Bucky enclosed his paws into an interlock to prevent the cold from brushing over her. Frowning to himself, he shifted his pensive blue eyes towards the street thinking of Steve and how their humanity had been robbed from them. It was shattering to dwell on knowing that HYDRA had been targeting people and changing them into animal.

There loathing question that kept racing in his mind as Bucky whispered out a disdainful breath, "Did HYDRA intend for me to become the first victim?"

* * *

Anna was used to surviving alone in a disheveled body. Adaption was necessary for survival. She learned how to master her heightened senses and defenses. There was a hidden truth woven in the threads of HYDRA. Magic was a unknown science to become matched with the functioning abilities of peak human conditioning. She spend years roaming the world libraries in search for answers of the decoded fractures between the lines of reality and fiction. There were texts with myths written about the Stonehenge and how souls trapped in shadow could reform into animals—mainly black cats. She also discovered history of concealed occult rituals the Nazis performed behind closed doors in vacant castles. Nothing was concrete. She had to discover the real truth on why she had become condemned in vessel of a black cat.

She remember feeling the agonizing metamorphosis surging through her blood and bones. A cruel sensation of every human part of her existence remolding and shifting into a new body. Octavia was present in the chamber. Holding a vial of blood—Jame's blood in the culture of her hand. Anna was stabbed to a table, unable to free herself from the shackles. in the moments of feeling everything merge and twist she caught a glimpse of a file written in Russian.

A project called Возрождение:  _Rebirth._

After they disposed of her new unconscious form in a gutter; she became a stray creature whom searched for home. A impermanent dwelling. Inside the ridges of her scarred heart she knew that her home was James Buchanan Barnes. He had been her dawn when the nightmares crept in the darkness and she was ensnared to never awaken without tear welling in her brown eyes.

He would hold her close, allowing her lips to brush against the warm hard muscle of his engraved torso as they faced the terrors and punishments. Beyond his fierce and icy exterior she found him, the true man who had been imprisoned inside the menacing hybrid of chrome and death-the Winter Soldier. That was in another lifetime.

She first encountered him in a corridor after a lesson inside the classroom, where she had watched a replay of a black and white reeled film.  _He stood near a stairway leading to the next level of the building. His skin was drenched with feverish sweat as he carried a intoxicating smell of oil and rusty bloodied scars from a previous mission had placed her in a trance._   _Most of the girls whispered about him, a looming ghost of a forgotten soldier-nameless and lost in the valleys of ice and snow._

_The Winter Solider._

_Tearing her brown eyes away, she felt unbalanced and thumped her shoulder against his chromed plate limb. It left a tiny gash of a blood on her chin as she flopped to the ground within the impact, landing on her hands and knees; bruising her palms as cement scraped over skin. The small yelp of pain snapped him out of his automaton gaze and he blinked, breaking out of his thoughts and looked down at her with a benevolent expression that surfaced from deep within. His eyebrows furrowed with hardened confusion._

_"Why are you on the ground?" he asked with a monotone voice, haunting and low. His lips were held into a firm line. "Did you fall?"_

_Anna timidly rubbed her wrist. She swallowed down a harsh sob, and looked up at him. Tall, short rakish brunette hair that had a few loose strands dangling from his broad forehead. His piercing Aegean blue eyes held darkness and unyielding defiance. His lips shaped with full arch as curved edges remained slack down. His jaw structured and chiseled into a squared curve with a cleft at the tip of his chin. The metal arm was by the far the most dangerous thing about him._

_An chrome augmentation, a mechanical weapon, fastened into marred bone and flesh. The Red star of Russia was branded on the shoulder plates, but there was something far more mysterious about him, he didn't look Soviet born, almost American._

_"I didn't mean to prevent you from reaching your objective, sir." Anna addressed to him with hint of uncertainty in her voice. She allowed dread to pour into her heart. She knew that shadow before her was the The Winter Soldier. Taking a deep breath, the world froze as hot flashes of fear penetrated through her lithe body. She felt trapped within in his unblinking gaze of icy embers. She tried to regain her words. "It was an accident. I had no intention of bumping into your arm."_

_The Winter Soldier cast down a withered and yet catatonic look at the speck of blood sloping over her chin. "There is a blood on your face," he growled, reaching out a hand instinctively, biting on his lips and itching to caress his fingers over the cut. He was undecided as his humanity protested against his programming. The struggle to assist to her wound scrunched on his face and he stole a timid glance at the stairs. Looking into her brown eyes, he found acceptance, he pivoted and inched a forward step, arm twisting with a tainted noise of misuse._

_Anna clenched. Her thumping and strained heart tightened in her chest. This was the only form of kindness that ingrained in her blood. Her life meant nothing to her handlers. She was an asset enslaved to become an operative-a killing machine bound to bed post with handcuffs digging in her wrist._

_She had been a part of a selection of young orphans left to starve on the streets of Russia without the security of home. This was home to her. A boarding school hidden beyond a surrounding a forest of pine and ice. The building was old and smelt of dank musty filth. There were different levels each with purpose of submission and imprisonment. Freedom was never a second thought in the Red Room._

_Fear seemed to dwarf inside her, as she stood her ground in front of him."Blood makes us strong when it spills from our veins." she recited, her voice almost robotic, before her mouth clamped shut and she turned away from him._

_His lips twitched slightly at this as a his metal hand grasped her shoulder, and he whispered in a less abrasive snarl, "Walk by my side and I will give you a chance to have freedom from the classes today. You will train with me."_

_The moment when Anna was about to follow his lead, a pair of cold hands snatched her arm and yanked her away from him, and thrown against the wall and handcuffs clasped over her wrists. She twisted around and met the ablazed green eyes of one of her dance instructors. Octavia. The woman's glove hand slapped her across the face._

_"Disorder will not be tolerated, stray."_ _Octavia yelled, and the grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. "I expect discipline from my young ladies. Not compliance to the set rules because you have a crush." She gritted her teeth. "It seems that your emotion capacity to resistance needs to become altered with pain. You will be thrown into the isolation chamber and await further instruction by my command."_

_Anna dared a look into his glassy blue orbs and watched his roughened face lower submissively._

_"Do I make myself clear, little Miss Anya?"_

_"Yes," She whimpered out her answer in barely a whisper. She responded to her real name. "I understand."_

_"Leave the girl. She is a distraction. I'll see that she gets punished for invading your space. Now, be a good soldier and march up those steps." Octavia drawled, casting her mellifluous eyes back on Anya and then trailed a displeased glower back to the Winter Soldier._

_"It wasn't her fault," He gritted, not taking his eyes off Anya, defending her. "I wasn't paying attention and she crashed into me." His face rearranged into a blank expression. He was using a trick of deception. He inched closer to the witch, and held out his hand, pulling Anya away from her, and possessively close to his side. " I wanted to escort this young woman back to the bed chambers."_

_Hissing under her breath, Octavia released her hold on the brunette. "Fine, I will give you clearance to meet this objective. If both of you fail to follow the rules, I will see that you are greatly punished-"_

_"Understood," he nodded, with a sour look, and then interlocked his metal digits with Anya's small fingers. Satisfaction of his victory hooded over his ghostly pale blue eyes, as he looked down at her; fighting his emotional disposition and whispered in a English voice, "You have a beautiful name...Anya."_

_She leaned against him, when he enclosed his arm around her waist, breathing softly. Thoughts were gone. She didn't want to move. She felt safe and wanted for the first time in ten years. "Why did you save me?" she asked, forcing herself to doubt._

_"You're the only one who looked at me instead of the metal arm, Anya," he replied. blinking against fire. He felt something surge within him. A thermal defrost against the relentless bite of winter. It had been a long time he felt his compassionate emerge from the icy depths of where the Winter Solider . He was breaking through the walls HYDRA and Leviathan barred around him; for the most part staring into brown eyes of a woman. A real woman. Not a mindless copy produced under the red haze. She was a dancer, but she had heart and spirit. She was alive._

_She had to ask the hardest question that seeped from her lips, "What is your name?"_

_He dropped his head, and was hesitant to answer her. "_ Yakov, _" he answered lowly._

_Anya gave him half of a smile, translating the name. "James..."_

Feeling those memories clot in her torrent thoughts, Anna snapped her eyes open to darkness. Soft glows of waxen moonlight reflected over her shiny fur and she felt her chest seize so tight she could barely breathe. "James," she gasped, almost losing her balance off the dresser, and ears twitched to the distant echoes of an sirens wailing in her mind. Someone was in danger. Another soul would be lost. She stomach churned, and eyes leaked with moisture. Cats didn't cry. They didn't show pain.

The cat turned her head, quickly and caught a glimpse with dimmed amber eyes of the small girl huddled under a heap of blankets. Safe and warm. Sensing no threat in the air; Anna let loose a tiny meow of bitterness which morphed into a plea of despair. "Please, I just want to see him again. James deserves to know that he is a good man." She lowered her head, pain increased in her broken heart. She squeezed her eyes shut once more. She declared the words entwined with the threads of her soul. "The man I love and will keeping on loving until this curse ends me."

* * *

It was the last level of an off grid and restricted compound. A dark place were evil lurked. Horrors were created. Death was freedom.

As he stood in front of a row of metal cages, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker shot a cold glare with grayish blue at his latest collection. Dozens of hopeless and condemned souls trapped within animal vessels, restless and timid and changed to become laboratory experiments for the whims of deranged obsessions of a magistress who had ensnared them.

His presence was like a shadow before them, a looming phantom of obscured malice. Glove hands squeezed over the leather strap as he observed the weakness bored into the transformed prisoners. The only fragments of humanity were scattered pieces of clothing were piled in a heap at the corner of the bunker room.

Pacing in hauntingly steps, his twisted and disciplined mind conjured about his next scheme of restoring HYDRA from the shadows the ever so vigilant and noble Captain America threw them back into—cutting off heads—Alexander Pierce and Jasper Sitwell from the main form of its body. He stared into the blank eyes of the animals-once respected and loyal operatives, but now worthless sacks of fur and drool used for injections and organ extraction.

It had become a new dominating form of power to create serums involving fear hormones and adrenaline. The methods of control had changed in past century. HYDRA allied with a morbid force of power usage of ancient dark arts recovered by the SSR and stored in secret files. After SHIELD crumpled into ash agents were able to collect the documents and relics to become used as weapons of dominance over their opposing enemies.

Today he archived victory. Captain Steven Rogers had become a victim to a transfiguring curse. A captive ensnared inside a vessel of a canine from a incantation that seeped from the mage's cold lips. It was a perfect form of wickedness to expose the super soldier's weakness and extract the serum from his veins to recreated the compounds Zola failed to rematch after unsuccessful trails.

Snickering, he turned his focus on a cage tucked in the corner of the lab. Inside an unconscious dog with blonde fur which the distinct hair of one prime individual who took a stand against HYDRA's new order of warfare— Steve Rogers. With spite running livid in his veins, Strucker looked at the animal's belly rising and falling as he slept, and murmured then under his breath, "Soon, Captain America, you will belong to HYDRA."

* * *

Flecks of moonlight streamed through the cloud cover, he switched off the Harley as the slight rumble of thunder died. The alley way was obscured by darkness and silence crawled through the vacant spaces. Before he slid his chiseled and well muscled body off the saddle a sound of heels clicking entered his ears. He scanned the alley, searching for truth in the mist as uncertainty envelopes over him once more. Frustrating and panic restrained in his veins as he felt compelled to enter the shadows.

"Captain."

In response to the familiar and concealed voice, he grabbed the shield off the handle bars of the bike, and latched it over the broad span of his shoulders. Feeling absent from the dread he moved closer with hushed and cautious steps. Everything was whirling around him as he pushed himself further. His heart pounded and blood rushed faster in his veins, and he instantly wore the stoic and fierce semblance of Captain America, becoming battle ready as he prepared to engage whatever demon lurked in the murky ambiance in front of him.

Before he could deliver an attack, his heart thudded to a stop and he found her standing in the division of darkness and moonlight. His voice became hesitant to answer, and he felt distant and unsure at first, but when he dared himself to stare into those brown jeweled eyes he parted his lips, "Peggy?"

There she was standing in with fire burning in her dark eyes. Her lithe figure dressed in a leather bomber jacket and curly brown hair fastened into a bun. Her full lips were painted with deep red and skin untouched by age. She didn't move from her regal stance. She placed gloved hands on her curves with a displeased expression shrouding over her ivory features. "Why are you not fighting, Steve?" she asked in her rich English voice. "There's a bloody war going on and you're just standing here..."

Steve lowered his head, ashamed, and unable to stop a firm grimace creeping over his lips. "I'm sure I can fight anymore, Peggy." he admitted.

"Steve, I have never known you to quit the fight." Peggy whispered as she swayed closer to him. "A good soldier never allows defeat to overcome his directive. You know what needs to be done. So find a way to seize your victory. Pick up the shield and go back out here and fight, Captain Rogers."

"I'm not sure I can do that anymore," Steve spoke with despondence in his strained voice. "Captain America isn't who I am. Something has happened to me and I–I don't feel strong. All I can feel is weakness and defeat."

Peggy shook her head, refusing his words. She halted a breath, and then stepped back to peer at him. He wore a different mask over his chiseled and razor-edged features. His piercing blue eyes weren't clear as a winter sky, but filled with stormy gray. He looked lost and afraid. Not the man—not the fearless and defiant soldier who fought until every ounce of breath strayed from his lungs. He needed to regain hope once again. "What do you believe in, Steve?" she asked in a somber voice, holding her red lips into a weak smile. He didn't answer her. "Your entering a dead pass on a battlefield and your friend needs your protection, so you are left with two choices to take the road of coward or find a way to save both of your lives."

'How?" Steve bit out, restraining the remorse heating in his veins.

Peggy walked closer, until he felt the heat of her body radiating into his stiff bones. She slid her dainty hands over his jacket, and then removed the silver compass from his pocket. The keepsake he had treasured for seventy years, tarnished with age and dented from the icy drifts of water. "You just need to follow the right direction to take." she said, lifting his hand and placing the compass in his large palm. "It's always kept you from running astray from home, hasn't it?"

He nodded slowly, but doubt crossed his heart. It hurt to confess. "I'm not sure where home is anymore. "

"It doesn't take much to find your way again. Just a choice to make the first step." replied, brown eyes dazzled with warmth. Her hands encompassed over his rough knuckles, squeezing with a gentle touch as she pressed them into the center of his hard chest. "You need to find your heart again, Steve. That's where Captain America will reside until you break those chains holding you down."

He froze up. This was a just a form of existence that time gave to him, a double crossed weave of inward struggle. She was his guiding light against the darkness. She was the woman he loved. Peggy Carter. His forgotten promise and broken dream. His heart. "It's not that easy, Peggy. I'm dealing with a different form of evil. Something I haven't faced in the uniform. It's hard to break the chains when everything inside of you has been taken away." He paused, lips folded into a line of anguish. "I know this isn't real...It's just a glimpse that my soul gave to help rebuild my strength." He looked deeply, into her brown eyes, still watching the flames of desire and trust burn inside them. "When I wake up you'll be an old dame and I'll be a less of man than I ever was..."

The world spun.

He caught a his reflection in the windows. The face of a blonde furred dog trapped in the cracks of glass. On his neck as a collar with the symbol of HYDRA branded on a steel tag.

"No," he gritted, withdrawing a step away, but Peggy grasped his arm.

"Steve, look at me," she commanded with a firm voice.

He flicked his blue eyes down, and stared at her. "Peggy, the curse. I can't fight it." His words were shuddering to a halt. Heart clenched and pain invaded.

"You're stronger than this bloody curse, Steve." Peggy caressed her fingers over his sharpened jaw, holding a loving touch on the tightening skin. "I have faith that you'll find your way back where you need to be..." She smiled with her thumb wiping away a tear. "You never give up. You keep on holding on whatever your a man or a dog...You are Captain Steven Grant Rogers."

"Peggy..." he said, pausing to look at her. The overpowering and sickening fear dissolved as he felt his heart beat increasing with the virtuous strength of the super soldier and the unyielding will power of the Brooklyn kid. He would find a way to defeat the darkest of evil..To save Bucky and restore his humanity. With that surge of hope coursing through him—he reached for her chin with his palm. He tilted her head upwards to align with his lips, and just stared at him with the light and unbreakable resilience of Captain America. "Thank you."

He kissed her, sealing a wet embrace of heat over her melting lips, and then he took her. Everything poured out of him like he had been broken from a high fever. Heart ceased to beat. Fear was gone. He needed this. To feel her lips follow the lead of his kiss as the world shattered into shards of darkened and mirrored pieces and he knew the dream was ending.

He held onto her, using all the strength in his arms to keep her locked against him. In those few moments of drifting back into a conscious state of mind, the compass slipped out of his hand and dropped to the ground—the arrow spun in all directions until it stopped and pointed to Brooklyn.

_Bucky._

* * *

Stirring from his slumber the first that registered in Steve's cloudy mind was a dull pain that seemed to burn all over his body. He attempted to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they were made of lead. He tried again, and this time he managed to get them open. His vision was hazy, but it didn't matter much; there was nothing to see. There was little light at all, and it revealed nothing except the bare floor.

Steve was still groggy from the tranquilizers, but he knew his strength was returning to him, so he decided to stand. He forced himself stand, but his back hit something cold and solid before it had risen half a foot, so he plopped back onto the hard floor. Realizing that he must be confined somehow, he took stock of his condition and surroundings.

Steve first noticed that something was wrong with his mouth. Sensation was still shaky, but he was fairly certain that the issue was not his nerves, but some obstruction. His jaws would not part, and his breathing was slightly hindered. Lifting his front leg, he pawed at his snout and discovered a tight muzzle was in place clamping his mouth shut. Biting his captors was now out of the question.

By scooting gently forward and gently backwards, Steve discovered that he was trapped in a very small cage. He did not even have enough room to turn around. There was neither food nor water, and his tongue was dry. The concrete below was biting into his skin, his fur offering little cushion at all. A collar was around his neck, and Steve had a feeling it wasn't to hold a license.

Steve sat in the dark for almost half an hour and no one came into the room. The effects of the drug had finally worn off, and Steve had paid special attention to any sounds that his sharp ears caught. He could occasionally hear footsteps from some distant hallway, but nothing ever came anywhere near his prison. Though his smell was hindered, Steve could tell that the room in which he was trapped was old and musty. A basement perhaps. That would be an ideal place for HYDRA to do its dirty work.

 _Bucky._  Steve had almost forgotten about his friend, and now he wondered if his feline companion had been captured too. Bucky was smart and skilled; it would be hard for even HYDRA to catch him. Perhaps he had escaped. Steve knew that if he was sure of Bucky's safety, he could easily endure whatever tortures HYDRA had planned for him.

Finally, a pair of feet approached a door that was outside of Steve's limited window of vision and entered the room. Steve glared up at the pair of wicked eyes that looked down upon him, growling loudly as the figure smirked ruthlessly at him.

"Comfortable, Captain America," The German voice taunted, harshly.

Steve only maintained his glare, sizing up his foe. He couldn't recall meeting him before, though he didn't have to have a lot of insight to see this man's innate wickedness. As he emerged from the murky darkness shrouding over the dank bunker room, Baron Strucker settled his gelid metallic gray eyes on the transformed captain. He looked like German Nazi. His body had't withered with time, he was in peak condition with broad shoulders and chest. His receding hair was dark and shorted into a buzzed cut. Face was strict with cut-stone features and a square jaw. He wore a muted gray uniform with the symbols of HYDRA branded on the shoulder patches. His composer was firm, restrained and emotionless.

The baron reminded Cap of a viper; a snake that gladly strikes its prey. Well, Steve was one prey that would fight a snake until it regretted its attack.

Hands slipped through the bars of the cage and a sharp pinched was left in the wake of the seized muscle squeezing against the veins. Steve released a small yelp in quick response. Captain America's resilience and defiance was no stranger to HYDRA's methods. They knew enervation and undervalued whatever threads of humanity billowed in the tempest of evil. This was a cruel force of pain that whacked against his bones as he was engaged into a unbidden conflict between strength and weakness.

"Impressive," Strucker said with a distinct German accent. "Only few have survived the transformation. Seeing that you carry that ageless serum in bones I have no doubt that you would have survive the changes of becoming a beast of obeisance. An asset to HYDRA's will." He appraised Steve's resilience in a stern tone. Another moment had passed when his gray eyes locked with husky's unyielding icy blue embers. "You see, Captain Rogers, it's not an era for science in bottles and inorganic weapons. It's an age of miracles and fear. To create a better world you must compromise with certain forces of power to give you the right foundations to restructure the damage humanity has lay to rot."

"Captain Rogers, I hear that you have a certain soldier is on the run. A black smudge that needs to be swiped away from this world." Strucker jabbed at him. Steve glared harshly at as he could regain the right amount of clarity to see row of cages in front of him. His expression must of registered since the Baron chuckled mockingly.

"You know it's fitting to see America's greatest war hero...The timid and ill Brooklyn brat that Doctor Erskine had faith in when he gave you the chance to become reborn into a mortal perfection. A super soldier." Strucker tsked with a displeased glower. "He believed that you were a miracle. Until unexplained truths became unsealed and new ideas were forged by ancient myths and relics-member of SS had secrets forces helping them long before blue liquid was induced into skinny weakling."

Steve barely even heard the insults. His mind was fixed on Bucky. He had hoped that perhaps HYDRA would forget about his friend now that they had the famous Captain America, but it seemed that was not so. Thoughts raced through Steve brain as he tried to think of a way to save Bucky, but no good idea surfaced. He couldn't even save himself at the moment. All he could do was sit there, glaring and growling, and pray that his friend would evade capture.

Prisoner. HYDRA. Blood. Pet...

"NO!" Steve snapped, shuffling backwards from the Baron's gaze. "I won't let you win..."

"Enough!" Strucker barked enraged by the dogs's compliance. He pointed with a gloved finger, knuckles flexed under leather as he turned his focus abruptly on a chained leash with flecks of blood stained on the chrome. He watched the blonde furred husky recoil unceremoniously back with the bite of threat in his gruff voice. He listened to Steve breath sharply against the tight muzzle locking in his defiance.

Steve's glare hardened and his insides boiled; his muzzle lifted high as canine incisors barred against the restricting leather. His heart thudded once, and twice before he regained his inward strength. He still felt trapped in a daze—harrowing dread increased every moment his mind dwelled on the thought of HYDRA imprisoning innocent people into bodies of animals. He refused to allow this to put him on the ropes. He was Captain America, the First Avenger and Defender of truth and freedom.

He wasn't a man to give into defeat. He fought until not a breath existed in his lungs. He had to keep on fighting."Soon as I get out of this, I'm going to make sure HYDRA never damages a life again." He growled raw and fierce. There was no weakness, nor surrender in his tone. Only a deadly calm that was prelude of a arising storm ahead.

Listening to the muffled growls emitting from the dog, Strucker's expression darkened as his hand thrusted into the cage, slow, and twisted almost like a corkscrew reaching for Steve's heart. He withdrew his intent threat of harming animal and caressed his knuckles over the creamed fur of Steve's chest.

"You are in no position to fight back. For seventy years I have waited to watch you suffer...To rot in cage just like my men your American government put into when Zola was detained from our ranks. You thought you had the power to prevent us from seizing control...You were solely mistaken, Captain, and underestimated the main factors of trust between order and chaos. It can be broken when parasites eat away at defenses from the inside." He curled his lips into a serpentine grin, releasing a hollow chuckle. "Now, that world you had awakened after being trapped in a coffin of ice has changed and good men will cease to exist."

The baron stared at the growling beast, and chuckled with unemphatic burst of amusement. He looked down at the distress canine, and ominous gray eyes took in Steve's cursive vestige with a satisfied gleam. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you, Captain." He intoned with a merciless voice. "Once your blood reaches the maximum percentage of canine it will resistant the serum. You'll drained and suffer a significant amount of memory loss until you're just a caged dog." He laughed, stepping closer to the cage and inhaled the stench of the drenched fur. "Each animal in this compound holds a distinct stench of fear...Yours is strong and fierce. The perfect essence of Captain America."

Steve did not dignify that biting comment with a response. He continued to stare at his adversary, having nothing more to do and knowing that it pleased the man least. Cap knew that pain was likely only minutes away, but he shoved the thought from his mind and put all his focus instead on scoping out the room, looking for possible advantages and exits.

"Pull yourself together, soldier," he chided underneath the constriction of the muzzle. "There's always a way out."

There was only one door and no windows, so if he were to escape, there was only that one option. In regards to objects, Steve looked closely at the cages across from his own. He could not tell in the dim light if they were occupied, but maybe he could knock one onto his assailant. There might be cages parallel to his, but he could not see them. He knew all this planning was probably futile, but he had to try. He could not give up hope; he had to prove the man wrong.

Good men could still exist, and Steve decided he would be one of them.


	16. Chapter 16

** **

**{Chapter 16}**

* * *

Feeling useless inside the cage in the vacant shadows of the desolated bunk. Another piece of his humanity bled away, fell into the darkness, leaving only a thread of hope. It felt almost... inescapable for him...a prison of fur and weakness. Steve knew he couldn't give into submission. He had to ignore the icy harrowing panic increasing through his bloodstream, and focus on his survival tactics. Narrowing his head, he brushed his muzzle against the steel bars. Pain filled and pulsated through his skull, encompassing ans ravaging his thoughts with the same rhythmic pounding of his strained heart.

In one hour, he would become subjected to awaiting tortures, and he would become forced to feel the surge of excruciating pain devour his broad strength. Steve found his senses awoken by a terrifying feeling; there was a cold presence of death lingering in the room. He trained to open his eyes but couldn't. He felt groggy, almost like he had been fighting the sickness of a high fever. The air was musty...dampened. He twisted slightly and the dull pain coursed through him. The cage was grating against his fur-blood. His nose crinkled at the familiar stench of plasma maybe; definitely not his since he didn't recall enduring injury.  _Another captive?_

His triangular shaped ears perked up, he heard another, encroaching footfall, like boots scraping over concrete. "Captain Rogers?" a gruff Russian voice whispered, testing to see if he was awake.

Steve considered pretending to sleep, but that seemed both futile and a little cowardly. Instead he shot a harsh glare outside of his cage towards whomever HYDRA had now sent to trouble him, the fur on his back rising and his muscles growing tense. He let out a low growl from the back of his throat, though hardly any of its sound made it past the tight muzzle that still dug into his jaws.

A depraved crackle of laughter sliced through the dulled silence of the room. A pair of ebony eyes narrowed at the cage; he twisted his head scornfully at the blonde furred beast and listened to the rumbling growls of the captain's unyielding defiance, while his smirking lips broke apart, his laugh was poisoned with toxic disgust. Unbidden hatred. Using a tactic of fear, he rattled the chains all the while his pale face was tainted with bitterness. He reeked of morbid blood and his eyes seemed to never blink as he glared down at the husky and cracked his knuckles.

"So you are the great Captain America?" he taunted with livid spite. Steve could sense the hunger pulsating in the man's veins. "America's spangled champion..." He loomed in front of the cage, stalking the ambiance of darkness with slow and methodical steps. "I'm surprised that you survive the process of transformation. Most humans fail to weakness as their bones twist and break... You are carrying something they lack... A fighting spirit."

Steve barely registered the last sentence of his tormentor's words. His thoughts went to what the operative had implied when he said "most humans fail to weakness...". How often had HYDRA cursed innocent victims to an excruciating transformation that many could not endure? Anger flared up like fire in Steve's soul as he thought of the terrible injustices people must have suffered. And not only did these evils occur, but they did so under the nose of an organization born in the land of the free. Where was the freedom of America now? Bureaucrats and power-cravers had forgotten the liberty men had once died for. It seemed to Steve that the American hope resided now only in a handful of individuals. He was one of the few in this remnant.

He did have a fighting spirit, but it was so much more than that. And now it was burning with just indignation.

Steve suddenly lashed out, lunging his weight against the bars in front of him in hopes that his superior strength, though fettered by the curse, might prevail against the cage. The bars did not yield, though they were strained by the force of the hit. Steve's front feet thrashed against the metal as the tried to claw his way through. The effort was futile, but it somehow felt better than sitting and taking the arrogant insults of a merciless killer in silence.

The operative was entering a thrall of hysteria. A haunting laugh emerged from his curled and thinned lips. A wicked smirk merged from the air chill ravaging in the air. He was unveiling his true existence- uncompromising insanity. He gloved fingers slid over the bars, as he gave Steve the impression that he was relishing the torment- almost feeding off of the detachment of humanity. Baron Strucker gave him orders to break the captains will- thread by thread. " You sound so distressed, Captain." he whispered with no emotion in his voice- just hollowness. " Don't worry you'll be screaming everything out soon. His tone shifted into darker and more malicious taunt."It will be an amusing chorus to hear when we're rattling the cages..."

Steve's ears fell back and pressed against his skull, another growl emanating from his throat. His whole body was now laced with adrenaline, and his muscles ached for lack of room to spring forward. He felt like a weight hanging on a string; cut the string, and he would have nothing to hold him back.

Steve, trying to focus his mind on actual thoughts rather than his impulses, knew whatever this man had come to do was about to be done, and that meant two things. It meant that he needed to prepare himself for the likely outcome: pain, and lots of it. However, if this man as to do something to him, it could require opening the cage or adjusting Steve's restraints, which would give Steve a window of opportunity. Although the Captain knew that his escape was extremely unlikely, he had to be poised to capitalize on even a tiny advantage. Letting his senses pick up as much acute information as they could about his situation, he waited for the operative to make a move.

The Russian became unpredictably still. He didn't take his dark eyes off Steve just stared at the blonde fur rising as he listened to the fighting snarl of compliance. He knew the super-solider could take any jab, kick and bullets. He had to dig deeper, twist the embedded scars of guilt and failure and make Steve feel the true merciless pain of HYDRA grip him into red abyss. He paused silently, his arm outstretched to tug the chained leash. A brutal pulse of sheer enjoyment ignited through his bones as he lunged his hand into the cage, and coiled his finger's over the husky's throat. He wanted the pain to become numbing and unrelenting. Captain America's measurement resilience was test of limits and control. HYDRA had seen in past. They'd seen it dwindle when people he cared about for harmed. They knew how to use his weakness against him, how much he could endure, and hold back.

A potent and sickening stench of dried blood mask over the gloves. He was a monster. A sordid skeletal form of flesh and cruelty.-a form of evil that can't be reasoned with; he was by far the most sadistic brand of HYDRA's selective followers. "Not so tough are know, Captain." He taunted with mockingly voice. Steve could clearly see that the vicious man was enthralled and excited at the very least of torturing the First Avenger. Regardless, the soldier inside of the canine vessel refused to back down from the hideous fight. "Let's see have much you can defy against pain, dog."

With as quick a move as he could, Steve lashed at the arm gripping his neck with his right foreleg, claws swiping with force. He had not been a dog very long, and his nails had lacked the time and wear to become filed down. Therefore, they were sharper than those of the average husky. Steve raked his paw across the operative's hand, and even though the man was wearing a glove, Steve was sure he had done at least some injury. Without even waiting to see what the operative would do in response, Steve repeated the blow again, wanting to get all he could out of this opportunity.

Oddly, the operative didn't react to lashes embedded in the thinned skin of his wrist. He just locked his shadowed eyes on the compromised area, licking in his lips as if he craved for the liquid maroon seeping from the punctured skin. With a nefarious sneer he grabbed the fur with striking thrust of his arm.

He wanted to get inside the captain's mind. Ground-in certain thoughts and ideals to corrupt the noble spirited man trapped inside the dog. He could feel Steve slowly slipping, the strength draining, the power of defiance fading into a course of yielding. He could smell the uncertainty spiraling in the marrow of his bones, and the insistence of his claws digging into the skin as he yanked the fur.

He slipped out a knife from his sleeve, feeling submission become a tenfold of weakness. He just needed to find the trigger point—a way to break Steve's heart shields. Quickly, he recoiled his hand away, and leveled his stare at the flaming blue eyes of his captive. "I heard that your friend won't survive the night. The Baron has a demon hound that likes hunting little cats...Once the mutt gets the scent of the Winter Soldier, than you will grieve for him...because he'll already be dead before you break out."

Steve's heart skipped a beat. They were already tracking Bucky? And with some mutant creature, no less. Images of Bucky, tortured and dying, filled Steve's mind and he ground his teeth, wishing he was able to cry out. There was nothing he could do to save his friend; he was utterly powerless. Bucky's blood would coat the ground because he had no one to fight beside him. Steve felt defeated, but them a spark ignited in him somewhere, and he refused to give in.

This could be a lie, and even if it wasn't, Bucky would want Steve to be strong. To fight HYDRA. To hold onto hope, even to the end of the line. Though the operative's grip on his fur was tighter than a vice, the pain making him dizzy, Steve did not back down. He locked his eyes with those of the agent and refused to submit.

Feeling the pressure of the jaws clamping over his wrist, the operative seethed out a hiss in harsh Russian, "I see you still have a little fight in you, Captain?" he chimed, applying force over Steve's frontal paw. "Do you think you can still defeat us, hero?" Steve resolved into a defensive stance. It was clear to the captor, that the caged dog wasn't going to submit. Using a brush of coldness in his voice, the freakish man pressed his fingers into bone, listening to Steve yelp within numbing contact."You fight until there's not a breath in your pathetic body, but your true weakness is having a soft side. You care to much. The Baron wants to cut off those strings, and remove all human obstruction from your mind. Once you fall...You will no longer show defiance to HYDRA, but obedience."

The pain flaming through Steve's leg was terrible, causing thinking to be extremely difficult. However, the Captain knew he couldn't let himself fall apart. He had to stay focused and alert as he defended both his mind and body from the advances of HDYRA. The man before him was clearly intent of breaking him, and so Steve would have to be even more adamant, which would be daunting for sure. The operative was likely insane as well as frighteningly sadistic. This moment could prove the hardest battle Captain America had ever fought.

Steve briefly thought of Bucky and what HYDRA had done to him in order to break his spirit. Bucky's will had probably been just as strong as Cap's, and HYDRA had finally been able to succeed. Was it no logical that they would succeed with Steve, too?

Steve shook failure from his mind. He had to fight; he had to stay afloat in this sea storm of HYDRA. He had to do it more for Bucky than himself now. Steve had always believed that evil would ultimately be defeated, and now he resolved to put that belief into action today. He refused to let the pulsing pain to get the better of him. He held his ground and maintained his silent glare.

Sensing the captain's resilience, the man bellowed out a harsh laugh, he released his hold on the dog's paw and stared into the ice blue eyes locked onto him. "I think a few volts from our newest brand of shock collars will decrease you stand of compliance, Captain." He threatened and straightened to his intimating height, and glared down at Steve. "I will be exhilarating to break the famous Captain America and he is nothing but a whimpering mutt."

Shock collar. So that's what this maniac would be using. Steve tried to mentally prepare himself for the horrors just a few seconds away. He knew that HYDRA's goal was to distract him from hope and make him give into despair. This would be easier for them when Steve could barely think due to inexpressible pain. Therefore, Steve had to be one step ahead of them, his mind had to be prepared. Closing his eyes tightly, Steve searched through his memory for any battle cry to latch onto. What had the founders of America, the country for which he fought, said in a dire situation?

Give me liberty or give me death. The statement rang in Steve's mind like the Liberty Bell itself. Who had said that? George Washington? No, it was Patrick Henry. And that statement had helped the Americans defy impossible odds and achieve their independence. Yes, it had to be liberty or death. No compromise, not with a tyrannical government hundreds of years ago and not with HYDRA today.

_Give me liberty or give me death._

Steve clung to the phrase, repeating it over and over in his head as he braced himself for the pain.


	17. Chapter 17

** **

**Chapter 17**

* * *

Brush washes of lavender and azure faded into a canvas of the entanglement of stormy cloud cover. He stood at the edge of the shoreline of Omaha Beach. The same shore where the Western Allied effort invaded the desolated shores of Normandy.

Decaying casemates of the German forces still stood on the sandy hills. Breathing in the salty air wavering from the sea, Steve focused his crystal blue eyes sternly on the rolling tide crashing against the jagged rocks. He still imaged landing craft driving against the ravaging waves to begin the initial assault as smoke shroud the coast from navel bombardment. Pieces of metal from tanks and shells scattered across the embedding sands. There were also remnants of the fallen casualties who gave their lives to ensure world freedom from the shadows of tyranny.

Then, out of nowhere red lightning struck down. Intense and electrifying. The earth underneath his boots rumbled. He almost last balance. The world around him was becoming ripped apart. A ridge was forming before his eyes. He crashed to the ground. The impact rattled though his bones. Icy panic was inside of him. Deep in his heart. Steve felt his strength bleeding out of every part of him. Deafening bombs of tanks dulled his ears. Screams of men dying became a morbid orchestration that ingrained in his whirling soul. He could feel the coldness of German spite encasing over his bones. He could taste the blood of fallen coat over his lips. He smelt death. Rotten and alarming. He swept his hands over the crushed stone, trying to grasp something to hold onto to. He couldn't fall. He couldn't become swallowed into the abyss.

Everything became cloaked in the infinite haze of warfare. Dog tags gleamed against the monotonous gray. Helmets and tattered scarps of uniform lay in patches of moist dirt. This was place where men showed liquid courage and fought against all odds. At one time it was a monumental haven for old and troubled soldiers to restore the peace in their restless spirits. It had served as a sanctuary to run to when he felt weakened and unable to carry on the fight. It now was a nightmare.

He was a lost soldier. No direction to turn back to, just a dead pass of choice. Even through his listened to his heartbeat, there was no solace growing within him. So, he walked. He pulled out his compass, pointing it to the ocean, and watched the arrow spin. _There is freedom. You have to find it._  One breath. Then a step and then another. One thought. No hesitation. Straight forward. He couldn't stop. He kept going further into the shallow water. _Look back. You'll find your way._

He dared a glance into the water. His heart faltered, frightened and numb. He saw the bodies of young soldiers; the darkness was dragging them further outward. Each one had fear ingrained in their pale faces. Their eyes glazed and open. Pupils had captured the last memories of their life before the hail of bullets struck them down. Steve realized that he was standing into a swirling pool of blood. His skin was becoming coated with the shades of it. He thrashed to get away from the horrid sight of death. He screamed, and gritted his teeth. The blood thickened around his massive body. His muscles felt the discouraging coldness. His eyes filled with tears. He was drowning in the tempest of red. When he struggled to swam back to shore, chains of a battle ship's anchor lathed over his feet, he was trapped. Hands of bone and decaying flesh gripped his arms, pulling him under. Gasping for lungful's of breath, he hoisted his arms out of the water, and splashes of blood drenched his blonde hair.

"No..." He screamed. His throat ached. He pushed himself against the waves and his hand reaching to touch the shore in focus of his light blue eyes, watery and filled up with agony. He turned his gaze on two battleships. American and Russian. Gun metal gray with rust eating at the haul. A young woman dark hair stood in the rushes of wind. Her lithe figure clothed in white. Her brown eyes cast down to him. Both hands on her hips with a displeased expression. _Peggy. It was Peggy._ "Help me..." He choked out. "Peggy, help me..."

On the other ship another woman, only fiery red hair curtained over her shoulders, and slender frame covered in black.  _Natasha._ "Nat..." He screamed. His heart ascending up his throat. He could barely gather enough breath in his lungs. He extended out his hand to reach for her. Before he could push himself closer a crack of thunder echoed in his ears and a bullet penetrated into his back. He opened his mouth and spewed out blood as the water captured the reflection of a red face monster encroaching closer to him.

"You surprise me, Captain." The cryptic and sordid German accent hissed malicious in the hazed air. A phantom. The Red Skull. "I thought you were strong to fight the demons. Now, I see that the good doctor's serum was a failure. You are a failure. A worthless coward who hides behind a shield. You never tasted true death. You only drowned in it for seventy years. All the men that gave their lives for independence and freedom. Those are fools. There is no freedom in this world. You are blind by ideals of truth and justice." He lowered his gun, and smiled as his burning eyes melted into the sockets of the skull. "You are a symbol of death." Steve felt his heart seize into his chest. Those cold and hollow words lashed over him. He was entering complete submission. Defeat. "You want freedom in your life, than allow the people you care about to die...Allow Captain America to surrender."

Steve clenched his jaw, his blue eyes burning with smoldering remorse. He fell into a defense stance. His body straightened, and chains broke. "I will never surrender." he growled back. His voice firm and unyielding against the Skull's merciless power. He swiped the blood off his lips, and leveled his intense stare on the ghost. "Captain America may become a symbol of death. Steve Rogers will always be human. No what how much you try to break him. He will never give up the fight." He pointed his finger at the Skull, and his commanding features burned with victorious light. "Look at me, Skull. I'm standing in your world. I'm facing you without my shield." Steve said with gritted teeth. "I'm not backing down...Never!"

"Never?" The Red Skull unreleased a malignant and arrogant laugh. It was a demonic crackle. His hollow gaze raked over the man across from him. The great Captain America. «You're broken. HYDRA has you in a cage. You've lost, Captain."

Before Steve could protest against those words, his eyes snapped to a body of a soldier floating before him. He placed his hand over the young man's chest, closed his eyes and felt a pulse of strength merge within his blood. "You've only surrendered." Steve seethed. Anger rented in his heart. He stiffened and stood tall against the torrents of blood threatening to pull him under. Then, he caught a glimpse of his shield. Red and silver with five pointed star. The star of liberty, freedom and hope. The emblem of victory against all evil. "Don't you know evil never has the victory?" He grabbed his shield and threw it across the water, hitting the red bone and knocking down his enemy. "I rise to face another battle...» Steve bellowed, catching his shield in midair. "You fall to face the flame..."

The Red Skull wobbled to regain his balance, "How can this be...I have you trapped...I'm inside of you, Captain. Your mind, heart and soul. There is no way out."

"There's always a way out." Steve said. His voice rose with anger and determination. His blue eyes became liquid fire. "I allow only one voice to control my soul. I'm pretty sure you don't want to face him." The blood parted into clear water, almost as if repelled by his words...his inner strength. The demons around him faded into the clear light. He glared at the Red Skull, his chest hardened and lips fastened into a firm line. He wasn't giving up the fight. "I will never back down from you, because I've got strength that doesn't come from a bottle, and you have nothing."

"Oh, but I do have something," The Red Skull chimed back. A sadistic sneer crossed his bony features. He held up Bucky's dog tags, his gloved fingers squeezed the chain. "I have James Barnes...This time you can't save him. He was an unwilling weapon we used to fight you. A sacrifice to scar your bones with guilt." Steve felt the inferno of rage coil inside his heart." Now, he is just a nameless stray...Useless and condemned." He spoke condescending as he gestured his hand to Barnes. "Death will find him again."

"I will save him." Steve yelled. His fists pulsing with the urge to strike.

"Save him?" The Red Skull mocked in return. "You can't even save yourself, Captain America. I will offer Barnes his freedom if you fully become mine, Captain America.

Steve gritted his teeth as those cold words brushed over his heart. His slacked brow bunched and jaw set. He was already on the edge. The fever was rising in his bloodstream. He refused to listen to the torturous words expelling from the Red Skull's mouth. He wasn't giving in to the condemning tone jostling through his rigid bones. He had to break the chains and find Bucky. Lifting his stormy blue eyes, he stared back at the devil with a fathomless gaze of resistance. He focused on the shoreline. Everything was swallowed by clouds of gray. No more soldiers or pieces from the past. It was just a blank area, vacant and desolation from light. "Where is James Barnes?" he growled, not intending to withhold back his fierceness towards the older man before him. "I'm only going to ask one more time...Where is James Buchanan Barnes...The Winter Soldier?"

A cruel sneer formed on the Skull's sunken in mouth. "He's right here, Captain."

Steve inwardly cringed at the coldness of Skull's words. He narrowed his blue embers, and stared down. Dread knotted in his gut when the fog dissipated, and revealed Bucky lying on a slab of rock. He wasn't dressed in black Kevlar and combat gear. He was wearing a green uniform, his muscled chest exposed with patches of blood smeared over the skin. His brown hair rakish and unkempt. No metal arm. He was untouched by HYDRA's operating table. His chiseled face cold and lifeless. He looked dead. He was barely breathing. His chest rose and fell as his eye flickered and clear pale blue looked back at Steve. A raw growl escaped from the captain's throat. "Buck..."

Bucky curved his lips into a broad smile, "Steve..." He coughed, life was extracting from him. "You have to let me go...Punk...I'm only holding you down."

Steve shook his head, he walked closer to shore. His blue eyes were shining with promise. "I'm never letting you go, Buck."

Bucky smiled through his tears, and lifted his hand, waiting for Steve to grasp it. "Find home again, Stevie. Find a way back to Brooklyn."

"I will, Bucky," Steve promised. He tried to wrap his mind around the situation and what it meant, but he was at a loss. Instead, he did the only thing he could think to do. He quickly ran to his friend and clasped Bucky's hand in his own. "Buck, stay with me, okay?" Steve pleaded, clenching Bucky's hand tighter.

"Steve," the dark haired soldier smiled brightly, his blue eyes welled with tears. " I'm not leaving you..." He choked up, his words soft and drowned up at the mournful sob that escaped from Steve's lips. It was broken and defeated. Bucky lifted his shaky hand and touched Steve's face. He looked steady into Steve's eyes, the light blue clouded by swells of tears. His face fractured into pain. «You've got to put em' on the ropes of us...You've got to fight, punk." He gritted his teeth. "This is your mission...So finish it."

Steve felt the lump in his throat rise, and blinking back tears, he nodded. "Don't give it a second thought," he said, smiling gently down on his friend. "Consider the mission accomplished."

Bucky's breath was now ragged, each intake of air a wearying task. Fear seemed to pierce Steve to his soul as he watched his fellow soldier, his brother, so near the point of death. "I'd fight a lot better if I had you at my side, pal," Steve almost whispered, emotion choking up his words.

"I'm always with you, Steve." Bucky returned into a gritty voice, breath fading. He interlocked his chilled fingers over the firmness of Steve's knuckles. Small flecks of blood covered his paling lips and splattered his ashen face. He winced, and splayed his palm over the super-soldier's chest. "No matter what you face out there...I've always got your back." He gave Steve a weak smile, his eyes fluttered shut, his wintry blue eyes concealed away from the world, hidden from the light.

"Bucky!" Steve cried, shaking his friend to try to wake him. "Bucky, come on, don't do this!" Tears rolled down Steve's cheeks, and his heart felt like a twisted and broken mess. He bent over Bucky's body and wept openly, headless of anything else around him. The only conscious thought going through Steve's mind was Bucky's last sentence _._ _I've always got your back._

* * *

Steve's eyes snapped open and he tried to get his bearings. He was no longer kneeling over his friend, which was a small relief, but that hope was washed away when more memory returned to him. The dank stench of old air greeted his canine nose, he felt the strain of chains on his neck and foreleg, and the only sound was that of a slow drip. The room's light was dim, but Steve didn't really care; he'd seen his prison before, and he had no desire to look around it again.

The only thing that remained of his dream was a burning passion that consumed his mind and soul. He had to fight HYDRA. He had to win. For Bucky's sake, if nothing else. He had to achieve victory for his friend. Steve gritted his teeth and pulled against his restraints, refusing to give in to this imprisonment for even a second.

The chain did not give, and Steve stopped struggling for a moment to exam the fetters. They were simple iron chains held together by a pin, which he could have removed easily with a thumb, if he'd had one. But his paws were inadequate, and his teeth were still trapped in their muzzle. Steve's heart cursed the curse, and his spirit thrashed about in its dark, spell-bound prison, not very different from this physical one. He had told the Red Skull that only one being was allowed to control his soul, and that he possessed an inner strength far beyond what HYDRA could understand. Now was the time to prove those words.

Steve had never taken thought to actual results coming from his non-physical struggle, but suddenly they were manifest right before his eyes. When he looked down at his long legs, he noticed that they were slowly changing. It was not the sort of change as when the curse had first occurred, but much more gradual and less drastic. However, any change was a blessing to Steve. The thick, golden fur on his legs was slowly dissipating, and his toes were slightly growing. Then the Captain remembered his thoughts about the thumb, and he quickly glanced at his paw more closely. Sure enough, a small thumb was taking shape.

Steve wasted no time. Though the thumb was by no means completely developed, Steve attempted to use it to pull the chains apart. The phalange was clumsy, but eventually the pin came out and Steve's foreleg was free. Almost giddy with excitement, Steve tried to get off the collar and muzzle as well. The muzzle was very difficult, and it took Steve nearly ten minutes to get his make-shift hands under the complex straps and move the whole contraption off his head. Despite all the progress, Steve's efforts were stopped at the collar, which would require delicate hand to unfasten. Steve again focused on the curse that still lingered in his mind, wondering if maybe, just maybe he could really reverse it fully.

* * *

_"James...wake up."_

_He slowly slitted his throbbing blue eyes open, listening to the wailing feminine cries in the dark. Slight discomfort as etched on his chiseled features as he felt a cold cloth dab over the curve of his jaw. He blinked a few times and adjusted his focus, everything was blurry as he squinted to the burned out ceiling light sparking above him. All the pain he had experience was rushing over him like intense waves, he reeled himself off the dirt floor, preparing to vomit but a dainty hand held him down with gentle pressure against his shoulder. His brow furrowed and his grayish eyes fully opened, settling on slender black leather clad figure, and he closed his hazed eyes once more to ease the stinging pain of the penetrating headache raging in his skull._

_"You need to stay alert ..." He listened to a familiar voice waft through the dense air of a confinement."They''ll kill us."_

_"Who are you?" he asked, knitting his eyebrow, trying to make out the face of his cell mate. He reached out a shaky hand but the figure pulled back. His tongue was thick as he repeated the same question, "Who are you?"_

_She didn't respond to him, instead she leaned in forward, grasping him by the shoulders with a warm grip of her fingers as he managed to ease him down flat on his back, applying gentle pressure in hopes that he would remember her and make him snap out of his delusional state. He winced slight feeling the dagger wound of Brock Rumlow throb inside the muscles of his abdomen as he was slowly entering a stage of shock, he was trembling and clattering his teeth as his body began to produce sickening sweat. He rolled off his back and turned to his side, hands rubbing over his graven chest._

_"He sent you to kill me..." James parted his lips, his pants of air becoming laced with coattails of breath._

_"Now why would I do that?" she curled up against him, pressing herself against the bare muscular planes of his sweaty back. "Don't you remember me, James?" she whispered hotly against his neck, her lips grazed over his scarred and blemished skin and she enclosed her trim arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his metal shoulder. She whispered over the hollow of his neck and rough jaw, his long drenched locks of dampened her forehead._

_"I remember you..." He replied, feeling the calming presence but not seeing it. Darkness cloaked over their bodies as he interlaced his fingers with hers. He grimace as the tension started to build in his stomach. He opened his mouth and expelled amounts of acidly bile onto the floor. He shivered feeling the icy coldness of his feverish symptoms crept into his aching bones but he was rendered useless from the dosage of medication his handlers laced his food with, and he tried to say her name but his mind was becoming thick like cotton and his lips grew numb._

_"I know you do, James" she answered, pressing her lithe form tighter against him, blanketing him with her warmth as she massaged the planes of his chest with circular motion of her fingers._ _"We're going to find a way out of this," he heard her breateh. Her voice was calm, assuring and low, his eyes opened as his hand reached up and cupped over the curve of her jaw. She enveloped his hand , her warm palm heating his knuckles as they met the other's gaze._

_He smiled lightly up at her, his metal finger over her bottom lip._ _Her dark eyes scanned over his laden features._

_"Anna," he said with a strained husky tone, looking into her misty pools of coffee and she nodded, brushing back his bangs delicately off his sweat glistening forehead. "Did they hurt you?" She slid her finger down his nose before her lips brushed softly over his brow, soothing him in a way that drifted him back into a sheltered place as his lips nestled over her pulse point._

_"Don't worry about me," she purred with a lowly voice, her finger threading the rakish strands of hair touching the broadness of his shoulders. "Just breathe and relax. I'm right here. I'm not leaving you."_

_He drifted into a peaceful slumber but his lips were still pressed on her jaw and she smiled, and curled herself up against him, watching him protectively as her fingers brushed over the smooth curvatures of his ashen face and the distinct lines of his mouth that twitch as he curved his soft lips into a gentle smile. She pressed a chaste kiss, embracing the rugged skin of his cheek and closed her eyes not knowing what to expect once the dawn comes but also felting the beat of his strong heart telling her that hope still existed._

_She heard the words of the madness and torment chime in her ears as she lifted her head off his shoulder and narrowed her dark gaze at him grimacing lips. She knew that his nightmares had found a way to invade his peace, gripping her fingers over the trembling flesh of his arm, before she closed her eyes, feeling her mouth curve into a content smile before she caressed his firm muscles, lightly with her lips and rested her head on his hard chest, listening in his heart beat._

_Anna pressed her lips tentatively on his tensed slackened muscles, and then she whispered a cool breath over his scars, "I love you..."_

* * *

Bucky forced his eyes open the moment he felt a little nose twitching against his muzzle. Agony jolted through his bones. Memories of Anna scarred over his heart. He felt the restraints of guilt. It took a few labored breaths to erase the unpleasant dryness in his throat. When he regained clarity out of the blurry haze Bucky felt the coldness of the heavy snowfall covering his ebony fur, still establishing that the fact he was in fact, being smothered by kitten affection.

The warmth of the touch jarred him awake. "Whoa," he instantly stood upright on his paws, he blinked the exhaustion out of his owlish eyes. Taking a few breaths, he readjusted to his senses. "Focus soldier," he chided in irritation as a moan followed. After finally, gaining stability with his emotions, he stared down at the timid female purring and nuzzling against his fur. She was trembling badly. He could see the trauma dwelling in her ice blue eyes. Fear was overtaking her. Without the security of a mother, she and her twin brother would die.

His blue eyes filled with many emotions. Anguish. Doubt. He realized that she was slowly dying. She'd been fighting to survive ever since he encountered the occultist in the graveyard, and looked at the body of the dead cat. Her mother. The kitten meowed. It almost sounded like...a cry...a pain filled cry. Tightness evaded his muscles, enhancing his physical discomfort. Her brother was healthy. She was stubborn much like him. "Don't worry kid," Bucky strained as he narrowed his muzzle and touched the side of the kitten's head, trying to assure her with a nudge.

She body tensed and she turned away, sick and reeling. His heart sunk down to his stomach, and he moved her closer to his belly, using his metal paw to secure her against the bite of cold. He was silent. He closed his eyes, purring with a comforting tone, and holding her. "Just hang in there, little punk." He said using the nickname he called Steve. "I know that things suck at the moment. Everything's gonna be alright. You've got me..." Bucky wasn't sure if he believed in his own words. Even though it was likely that the kitten understand, he still felt compelled to say them regardless.

The kitten curled into a ball close to his hind legs. Her stubby tail swayed a little against his tensed stomach. She released a dismal cry. "Mew,"

"Kid...I-I'm sorry," The cat felt his last reserves of strength expand itself in his slender physically as well as emotionally trying to struggle. A heavy breath emerged from his throat when he screwed his eyes shut to the agony. Fire devoured everything within him, until he felt hollow, and the vise in his chest squeezed his heart and lungs so tight he could barely breathe.

"No," he managed as voice broke into a desperate sob. "I've seen so much death...I don't want to see yours." he confessed mournfully. He was creeping to the edge of despair. His stomach churned, and fever engulfed his body. Gritting his teeth, Bucky grabbed her small form, pushing her back into the snowfall, and leveled his glistening blue eyes on her. "Listen to me, I'm not giving on you, kid. I will fight for your life. No matter the cost." He promised, feeling the words of Steve Rogers ignite like a flame in his chest. He lowered his head, and nuzzled his face against her straining belly. "You're my mission," he whispered, soft and brotherly.

The female responded to his words, and purred against his metal limb. Bucky reached over, opened his jaws to instantly lift up the male. He was gentle as his fangs dug into the kitten's furry neck, and he eased the heaviness of the two off the step, and placed him close to his twin sister. "Stick close to me, kids," Bucky ordered roughly, his long tail curled over their small bodies.

Something didn't feel right. There was a familiar and comforting scent mixed in with the chill of the air.

It smelt like lavender and roses. "I know that smell," he spoke distantly, his nose twitching as he caught the scent once again. It drew him out of his despair. "It's beautiful...Almost like..." He stepped forward; a calming presence was lulling him closer. The urge to meet a ghost trapped within the prisons of winter was overwhelming. His pale blue eyes welled with tears. He clung onto his pain and regret.

He turned his head away from the street-feeling suddenly alarmed as his sharp senses registered the multiple heart beats of another that grew stronger each second. At first, his primal instinct was to defend the kittens, but as the scent wafted closer; he sunk back into the shadows, hesitant to advance.

* * *

From several yards away, two sharp feline eyes peered at the stairwell where Bucky sat with the two kittens. The amber eyes were full of despair and regret, and although they belonged to one who longed to rush forward, the cat could not bring itself to move. It remained concealed and still as stone, watching the three cats in silence. Anna had been trailing Bucky for a while now, but her thoughts were too conflicted for her to know how to act. Something kept holding her back, and yet another force was drawing her soul forward. All this left her heart aching and her mind racing, and still no solution had presented itself.

The snow was falling lightly now, landing on Anna's silky ebony fur and making a light dusting of pale whiteness on her coat, but she did not move to shake it off. The air was frigidly cold, reminding Anna of the bonds of HYDRA. She longed for warmth, for unquenchable fire and the security of the summer breeze. However, she did like a portion of winter: the Winter Soldier.

* * *

Feeling his heart thumping faster in his chest, Bucky stared into the tender warm gaze of Anna through the flakes of snow. Immeasurable anger had increased in his body. "No," he seethed out coldly, bowing his head; unable to stare beyond the heavy snowfall obstructing his vision. "She can't be alive ..." He whispered. His words softened and drowned out with sobbing noises erupting from the back of his throat. "She is dead..."

With his soul screaming inside his disheveled feline body, Bucky brought his metal paw up to his face and allow the claws to sink in. He felt his eyes tearing up, but he refused to cry. He felt his humanity ripping out of him, breath seized in his lungs and vision blotted into splotches of white. All his emotions were pouring out of him, bones twisted against drenched fur and rage boiled in his blood.

This wasn't the first time he felt her presence watching him from shadows. The first time was on street when he fought Steve and Natasha Romanova through the clouds of smoke and shards of broken glass. He remembered sensing her as he stalked closer to a silver van, and then there was the explosion. She must have been part of the crowd, or inside a barricaded vehicle. What if he shot her when he released a hail of bullets from the overpass or she had gotten wounded during an explosion that rained glass over the streets?

A stab of fear lanced into his heart. His limbs became frozen as stone. He barely could muster enough strength to lift himself off the step and search for her. Bucky felt his insides twist each time he thought of her huddled in a corner somewhere in the city, bleeding out her pain. Jumping off the his perch, he landed clumsily on his paws, and found himself trapped within eye contact of another...female black cat across the street. Resistance was pending in his heart, he dared himself a glance, and stared her down with his menacing glacial eyes. His muzzle contorted into a unperturbed scowl.

"What?" Bucky looked between parked and the sulking cat with mixed emotions ranging from anger to sorrow and finally denial. He stared intently at the female that seemed to shy away from his gaze as though it were somehow ashamed of its appearance. His heart twisted painfully as the implications arose as he contemplated on his enhanced senses when he first smelt. "Lavender and roses..." He whispered to himself until realization dawned on him. "No..." He voice began to crack.

NO!" He growled out, tears threatened to escape his eyes but he blinked them back angrily. "You're dead. This is a trick!" His vision clouded, eyes became clouded with a mixture of despair and rage. They eventfully settled on the female cat in front of him, another victim's of HYDRA's malevolence and crimes against humanity.

Bucky knew what it was like to be unmade; to have his humanity and his freewill taken from in the most horrific of ways possible...and he would have let it happen to himself many of times over if it meant sparing Anna's life. So that the woman he loved would never have to experience the horrors inflicted upon his body in those dark days were death seemed preferable to a life as a weapon-a tool. And now his past was haunting again...and James Barnes felt like had failed his mission. He hated himself for not being there when she needed him-protecting her with his own blood, sweat and tears. He didn't deserve her love...He didn't deserve to feel her soft kiss capture the fullness of his lips. It rendered him to feel unsettled.

_It can't be her..._

Anna immediately averted her gaze as she met the Bucky's enraged eyes. Her first instinct was to run, but she didn't. She wasn't sure she could stay away from the situation much longer, and it was more than likely that the Winter Soldier needed her help. Those kittens were weak, and Bucky's eyes betrayed exhaustion. She ought to step forward right now. She ought to run and hide. Anna clenched her eyes shut and tried to think clearly.

_Does he remember me?_

The terrible question entered her mind unbidden, but then now she couldn't dismiss it. What if HYDRA had brainwashed all Bucky's memories of her out of his mind for good? The idea sent daggers of fear into Anna's heart, and this fear helped her finally overcome equilibrium and make a decision. Slowly, Anna took a trembling step in James's direction, her ears down in submission and her eyes looking at the ground.

Bucky felt a vicious pulse. His blood turned into ice. The relentless wind slammed against his body, knocking him off balance. He regained stability in his weight and just stares at her with dismal blue eyes. It took great effort to face her. "Do I know you?" he spoke in roughened hoarse voice, breath hastened as he took a step forward thinking that the shadows fooled his eyes and ears or if she was truly there. Could his beautiful Anna be concealed in the eclipse of snow and darkness? He had to coax the stray to move closer to him, to try and unveil the secret of the curse.

He felt the sting of loss...and betrayal.

Doubt and turmoil fled his mind as he took shaken steps towards the cowering feline at the narrow opening of the alley that could scarcely meet his cloudy and exhausted eyes. He stared at her, stared like she was just a ghost caught in his storms of delusions. His eyes widened, they were hollow and glazed with cold uncertainty. She wasn't how he remembered her, fierce, graceful and beautiful, but she was alive.

She looked timid and disheveled. All those years of roaming the cities of the world in search for the Winter Soldier had damaged her, scarred and destroyed her fighting spirit. She was just a shade of gray. There were familiar remnants of Anna hidden within the vessel of the cat. A light color of brown near her chest, it was the exact color of her silky long hair. Gentle features of her face, no longer soft ivory, but ebony fur. Her full red lips had vanished, just a mouth of cat. Her eyes, so rich and warm like coffee, ever so bright, despite the transformation. She was Anna, but a still ghost, too. She was no longer the woman he had known from the Red Room or in the dark chambers of Leviathan.

A flicker of doubt crossed his heart. His blue eyes were bright with fever and mouth sealed close for moment; he swallowed down a gulp of air. He wanted to cast out all doubt, and believe that she wasn't there with him; trapped inside a feline body, but somehow he was convinced that the cat was her. A dull clang sounded and he did not realize that his metal paw slammed into the ground. He slowly came to her and schooled his features in an effort to appear strong despite the emotions threatening to overpower him. "Can you tell me your name?"

Anna's mouth was dry. Her body shook, both from the cold and her inner battle. But there was nothing else to do except respond. With a trembling jaw, she chanced a look into Bucky's pale eyes, every bit of hope left in her bubbling into her answer. "Anna," she said quietly, the name sounding almost foreign to her ears. No one had called her that in so long that she had almost forgotten the name herself. Then, swallowing hard, she dared to add a question of her own. "James?"

Dismissively, Bucky's ears flattened and his pupils began to slit into a diamond shape. He searched for any deception in her words and found none; they would have dulled in his ears if his ingrained feline senses didn't respond to the name that escaped from her mouth. Bucky felt his insides churn and resume his torment each time he stared at her. It was a risk; he was putting the lives of his little companions at great risk allowing her to invade his space. Still, he genuinely knew she wasn't out to harm any of them. Swallowing down the acid building up his throat, he looked into her eyes and found his love beyond the vestiges of the cat.

"...Anna?" His voice came out in a quiet whisper.


	18. Chapter 18

** **

**{Chapter 18}**

* * *

"Anna..." His grimaced with disdain at the sound of his new voice, Much more deeper and colder than the one he was used to sharing with her. Bucky felt his bones freezing up, tensing in complete shock, and then looked at her while feeling his heart writhing and twisting in his chest. He felt wounded. Cold ice pierced through his heart as he listened to the quite whisper of her voice attribute against the snowy air.

He didn't want to move, his vision blurred for a moment as he stared into the void between them. "You can't be her..." He growled and his face fractured into an abashed expression. His wet fur became a disarray mess. His breath drew out ragged. His eyes enlarged, realizing HYDRA's deception. "They told me..." He felt his heart clench with revulsion. A small flutter of panic overwhelmed him.  _Dead. Dead. She's dead. The voice of Alexander Pierce filled his head._ He felt sick to his stomach. His eyes coated with moisture."... you died?" he spoke dismally.

_He sat against the wall, his bare muscles hardened as flecks of snow lashed over his still body. His disheveled draped over his face, he was searching for her. It had been three days since he remembered feeling her hand interlock at his metal fingers. Suddenly his solace was interrupted by Alexander Pierce his main superior and surrogate father. He didn't respond to footsteps crunching in the snow. His blue eyes lowered and jaw clenched as he tucked his knees closer to his chest, feeling the strain of muscle as darkness flooded over his ragged features. "I have some news that you need to hear." Pierce said with no emotion in his low baritone. "It grieves me to tell you that Agent Anya Volkov failed her mission."_

_"What..." The Winter Soldier's expression flattened into a grimace. It felt emotions becoming unraveled. "She-she never fails." he croaked in panic, feeling his heart sink into the pit of his churning stomach, it felt like a killing strike right into the chest. Muscles bruised and bones jostled. "She always comes back..."_

_"She is dead. The body as been deposed of and you will soon forget about her." Pierce said in a instructive voice; there was a threatening edge to his soft one. He stiffened his jaw with a displeased glower settling down on HYDRA's weapon. "All the memories of her will be wiped...And she will become nonexistent to you as all those feelings you had for her will melt away... " He rotated his body to the rising smoke emerging from a brick stack, a sadistic grin flickered across his aging features. "I will give you one chance to see her again." He crouched down, and grabbed the messy locks of the young man's hair; forcing James to stare at the smoke with tear filled eyes. "Look at her..."_

_"I don't want to..." James protested, as Pierce slapped his ears with dangerous pressure, making blood seep out. His heart was pumping faster, driving into overdrive as his vision blurred against the coating of tears. His fists clenched and breath grew heavier as he caught a glimpse of the black haze escalating into the snow clouds. "Anna!" he roared, his blue eyes burning in crazed rage, vile hatred and brutal grief. It buried deep as he choke out his sobs and lowered his face into his metal and fleshed hands; he opened his mouth and released everything out. "NO!"_

* * *

"I did die," Anna answered bitterly, her voice broken. "Look at me, James: I am dead!" Tears stung her eyes and her chest heaved in deep breaths. She was suddenly angry for all HYDRA had done to her and taken from her. She was nothing now. Technically her heart had not ceased, but she knew that she really was dead in a sense. "Anna did die," she whispered in despair. "I am nothing but her cursed ghost."

Bucky's throbbing heart sank in his chest as he realized what happened to her and what was about to happen to them, His eyes hardened with intent focus and he knew there was only one that might heal them both. Taking quick steps forward, Bucky came into her line of sight and said in a beseeching voice, "Anna! You're alive." His tone cracked as he saw the absent look in her golden eyes as they met his. "Don't you dare say that you're dead." He spat out strangled words like they were clogged in his throat. His tight muscles seized, and the world turned into a haze of white. His eyes became steel."You're alive"

Despite her tears, Anna shook her head giving him a stony glare with the darkness of her eyes. Through her tears she saw the hidden pain in his face. "You don't understand what I've been through." She snarled. Her claws slowly retracting out. "I had peace, James, when I was with you." she bluntly declared in a heated breath. Venom seeped from her mouth. Bitterness and remorse pinned against her heart. She narrowed her eyes alone, and released a shaky exhale. "I had peace when you didn't wear the mask and become HYDRA's murderous lapdog."

Bucky moved away, struggling against with rages of emotions. "Look at me, Anna." He tried to keep his voice gentle and level, but the guilt was edging closer to his heart. After all, he was the one that pulled her into his hellish world, she was a victim. She'd loved him. She'd allowed her humanity to betray her. She'd almost lost everything. And HYDRA took her from him. "You think that it was my choice?" he seethed, a soft rumble of exhaustion vibrated in his chest. "I lost everything. Zola took everything. Memories of my life, family and friends. I felt undead. I had a heartbeat but not sense of what it meant to live without blood on my hands."

Anna grimace a little at his words. She finally met his gaze. Her eyes filled with vehemence and grief. "HYDRA tortured us until we felt nothing. It was dehumanization II suppose, treating us like caged animals...slaves. They made feel like we had nothing left to fight for...Just slaves forced to taste the red rain as it poured from the bodies we'd compromised." Tears emancipated from her eyes and rolled down her muzzle. "...it was how we survived." she sniffled; head bowing downward as faint whimper escaped her.

An inhumane whine erupted from Bucky's throat as he tensed up and retreated away from her and further back into the shadows. The moonlight poured into the alley and illuminated across his feline silhouette. His metal paw shakily reached and dug into his wild and drenched fur, sinking his claws into his head. "Do you believe you are the only one that is in pain?! I could never have given you the life you would have wanted - let alone the one you deserved, Anna!" He growled, removing his paw from his face.

"We both knew it would end like this! You were a beautiful woman. I was a monster who hunted for blood...We're not human anymore." His tone quivered as all the realities he had shielded himself from began to jostle him. "I'm just a pale reflection of the soldier you once loved...and soon to be distant memory in the minds of everyone who dared to looked at me."

"I don't care about our past. I don't want anything else stolen from us." She gave him a piercing look. "That witch scarred me when she forced me to give up my humanity to keep you alive."

Bucky tilted his head down. His muzzle clenched. His eyes watered in terror as he allowed the truth become ingrained into him. Tarnished and discolored images of his past ceased to bleed in his mind. It was ink dripping over the bundles of memory, smudging and smearing the faces of soldiers America and Russian. He absorbed every feeling, and tried to regain clarity, as easy as he could. Misshapen faces dissolved into a red, slipping and detaching between thick weaves of a spider's web until tentacles wiggled up from the abyss and twisted over his throat. His tears turned to blood and flesh to metal as the monsters pulled him into the fathoms and made him drown into the thickness of his sins.

Bucky flashed his eyes open, angry. He glared at her, cold and hardened. His gaze morphed into soulless blue eyes of the Winter Soldier. No gleams of tenderness, just pure vengeance."You should have fought..." He whispered shattered emotional voice. His face dripping with tears, sinking into his fur. "You strike before they strike you down. I trained you to kill when it became necessary." He became lost from words.

"I didn't want to kill," she hissed lowly, her eyes shining with furious tears. "I wanted to live without being under the gun."

He swallowed his trepidation and wore a firm yet compassionate look as he watched her; feared for her and what had been done to her by the sordid curse. The unkempt black fur showed visible signs of neglect and enduring a life as a stray-a forgotten soul trapped inside an illusion of a witch's punishment because she loved him. He felt a shard of guilt lance through his body as he stared into her icy feline eyes.

The fact that she was still standing this fierce, this determined, was a testament to her inner strength and willpower. But he knew more than anyone that strength and willpower could be directed positively or negatively. He'd glimpsed the ugly side that was negative. He reveled and was controlled through it. It was a side that still haunted his nightmares and he knew now how dangerously close Anna was to teetering over the edge-surrendering to the curse.

If she did, he would lose her.

"I'don't what your feeling..." He tried sympathetically to earn her attention; sparing no glance at the disgruntled kittens who glared at him through the falling snow. "There's no one in HYDRA that I wouldn't kill to bring you back into my arms." He watched her eyes well up with tears, taking his words as a sense of peace. Bucky quickly continued. "You're here with me, Anna. Look at me...I'm not even a human...Just a mangy cat that doesn't deserve a second look, but you are beautiful and I have never forgotten you." He said to her almost lovingly, taking slow careful steps forward with his paws pushing into the snow. "I have always been in love with you..."

Anna was not sure how to respond. She could barely remember what affection was like, but she knew that she needed it. She had perhaps been dying for lack of it, falling victim to the curse's advances because she lacked a reason to fight it. Daring to step forward, she looked over Bucky with a glance that did not fully lack suspicion. Could this be real, this dream that had been in her heart for so long?

"James," she began, her voice quiet and unsure, "...do you mean that?" Doubt flooded her eyes, and she swept her paw across the snow nervously. "How can you be here? How do I know that this isn't another torturous plot of HYDRA?" Another tear slipped from her eye. "I don't know what is real anymore, what is true..."

It felt a bullet slammed into his chest at that moment. His breath was knocked out of him. He couldn't move.

Bucky felt his muscles tightened. "Our memories are true..." His voice shuttered. The world tipped, and snow lashed over his face. Raging guilt coiled in his stomach. His pained blue eyes stared at the pools of distress in her eyes, murky grayness covered their allure and fierceness. Her soul. Just for a moment, he saw her, the woman -the real Anna. A beauty more deadly than a gun, and sharper than any wielding knife. He saw the woman he loved.

"I thought I lost you." He revealed his despondent voice crackled with pain. Ugly. Twisting and aching grief. "Somehow I knew it was just another trick of deception to make submit to the programming." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. A bitter tone seeped out his throat. "You're here with me...We're still not free."

A flicker of hope flashed in Anna's eyes at the word "free". Looking longingly at Bucky's expression, she could not deny its authenticity. This was the man she had once known and loved, though something about him was different. It was almost as if he had been exposed to light after many years in darkness. Anna knew that was a ridiculous notion, especially with them both being under a terrible curse, but she was sure that something had happened to James to make him more...human.

"You talk as though we can become free," she began slowly. Her voice wavered to crack. "Is that even possible?"

Bucky stood still with his back still facing her, warring with himself. His heart aching to hold her his arms while his mind told him to maintain a vow of silence. One that would painfully make his statement across. His head hung low while his shoulders trembled with uncertainty. It wasn't long before a sharp unpleasant feeling circling in his chest. He knew it to be dread. Bucky couldn't let himself fall apart here in front of her. He needed to be her strength; her beacon in this darkness she had faced and endured.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Everyone gets harmed because of me…" The words escaped in soft whisper, giving light to the guilty abyss he felt from within. If he had only been there; if he had not left her alone with that witch he could have stopped this from happening to her. Anna had her humanity stripped. She had been unmade. "If I had known what HYDRA was planning...I would've found a way to keep you safe." He snapped his head around; looking back at the kittens. He had grown attached to them as their big brother. "I'm trying to find way out for all of us." He lowered his head. "It's because of me, the only friend I ever had shares this stupid curse."

"What friend?" Anna asked her brow creasing as she tried to think of who James could mean. The only friend she could remember Bucky professing to have was a Captain, but that had been seventy years ago, and James had never been sure of those memories anyway.

Bucky swallowed. Steve's life was hanging in the balance in HYDRA's game. "Steve." He drew out a hushed and tender breath. His voice low and full of disdain. The storm that swirled inside of him eased at the mention of his best friend. "His name is Steve Rogers. I let him just walk away. I abandoned him when he needed me." He bit into his lips hopefully; tears clung to his whiskers, refusing to drip. "That dumb punk has a good sense of direction. He always finds his way back...I mean, he knows how to find me even when I forget where home is..."

"Steve Rogers," Anna mumbled to herself, not recognizing the name and too eager to learn about how to undo the curse to ask for additional details. "I suppose he's around here somewhere? Just leaving you to watch the kids, I suppose." Anna grinned as Bucky's ears bent back a bit at the tease. "That one there," she said in a more serious tone, nodding to the female kitten, "she looks like she could use some rest and food."...Actually, I think you all could. Why don't we find your friend and we'll get something to eat?"

Bucky let out a sigh, clearing his throat. "Anna, I'm not putting you in the line of fire. I lost you once. " The cat raised his head and looked into her eyes; two storms met one another in an intense stare. He never wanted to lose sight of her. _Not ever._  "Never again."

Anna let Bucky's assurance ring in her ears as she stood only inches from the face she had dreamed about for so many lonely days. Her heart was beating rapidly and her good sense was wondering what she was doing when she should be focused on the problem, but her soul was tired and her spirit nearly broken. She wanted to feel something again, to register the warmth of another's gentle touch.

Looking into Bucky's icy-blue eyes, Anna felt her last bit of reservation melt away. Closing her eyes, she moved her head forward and rubbed it lightly against James' soft jaw line, savoring the contact as if it were pure gold. A purr escaped her cold lips, and when she opened her eyes again, they were sparkling with new purpose and hope. This truly was the man she loved, trapped though he was, and she was never going to allow HYDRA to separate them again.

Bucky released a shaky breath nuzzling against her. Fears and insecurities that once tugged and restrained him in the past where long torn away and he never felt more strength, freedom and conviction in his words than he did now as he professed as a smile crept across his face. "I love you, Anna." His eyes locked with the same pair he had become so familiar when fighting against the bone numbing tortures of the Red Room. She was his life line. He rubbed his mouth softly up her face, imaging he felt her ivory skin heat against the fullness of his lips. He knew they would become human, and he would share new life with her. He had a mission to finish. Steve was in trouble, and he had to pull the super-soldier out of the darkness. He had a lost soldier to find. As he leaned his head to hers, Anna closed her eyes, and inhaled his strength deeply. She felt warm. She had a home. "I will never abandon you ever again." he whispered, sounding much like the defiant soldier he once was before the fall. "No matter what cost I will pay...You will be free..."

"We both are in this together," Anna whispered against his fur, her mouth pressing adoringly against his muzzle. A kiss. She was kissing him. "I will fight with you until the end of the line. Cat or human...I am yours."

Bucky wrapped his metal paw around her front leg, securing his love with her, and he whispered hotly, "You're mine...Kotenok."

* * *

Steve found the curse very difficult to comprehend, but it seemed most like a poison in his soul. If the poison could be drawn out and his mind purged of it, then his body was sure to follow. But to attack something as potent as this curse would require a lot of will power and possibly divine intervention. Luckily, Captain America was known for both a strong will and a strong faith.

Almost like a tactician, Steve began waging his war against the curse, all without moving a muscle. It was so unlike anything he had ever done that at first he thought perhaps he was still in a dream. But something reassured him that this was real and vitally important, and therefore he kept at it. He isolated the curse from the rest of his mind very slowly, and when he was finally separated from it, he began destroying it. Even he was not sure exactly how this was occurring; Steve relied on instinct and the fact that he was feeling great and wonderful relief as the curse lost ground.

Then, all at once, it was over. Steve's eyes flashed open and he refocused on his physical surrounds, wondering how much time had passed. He felt like he had just awakened from a very long and deep slumber, and his body was refreshed. Not only that, but with one hesitant glance, he realized that the curse's effects had vanished, and he was himself again. The process had evoked no physical pain, and actually Steve had no memories of the change whatsoever. All he knew was that he was human again and he had to get out of here.

The problem now was, of course, how to escape. Thankfully he had been a big husky, and therefore the cage in which he was trapped was big enough for even a human. But it was still locked, and a collar was still around his neck. Somehow the latter restraint suddenly seemed ten times as degrading as before, and Steve immediately began working at it to take it off. He achieved success and tossed the accursed fetter aside, edging forward to examine the cage's lock.

Steve sighed with joyful relief when he found that the cage was secured not by a lock that required a key but a bolt that need only be grasped, twisted, and pulled out. This task would be impossible for any animal, but now it was easy. Steve slipped his fingers through the bars and yanked on the rusty bolt. After resisting the movement for a brief second, the lock came free and he door creaked open.

Steve didn't waste a moment. He quickly crawled out of the cage and refastened it shut. He then glanced over the whole room, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. He spotted an old wrench, and having nothing better, he picked it up and moved to the door. It would probably be suicide to charge out of the room without a better opportunity, so Steve ran to the wall and waited beside the entrance for the agent to return, adrenaline coursing through his veins almost as thickly as hope and purpose.

It was nearly an hour later that footsteps came near on the other side of the door. Steve gripped the wrench in his hands tightly and took in a long breath. Slowly, the door beside him opened, and the operative from before stepped into the room. As soon as the man was in clear sight, Steve stepped forward and delivered a hard blow onto the agent's skull, sending him unconscious to the concrete floor with a dull thump.

Steve stood over his fallen enemy with rage burning in his heart, and for a moment he considered killing the operative right there and then. The man deserved death and more for his terrible crimes, and Steve had the perfect window to administer justice. It would save so many lives, wouldn't it? A thousand practical and logical reasons flooded Steve's mind, and he nearly gave in to his whim's demands. But at the last moment, Steve stayed his hand. This man, no matter how polluted by evil, was still a man. He still had a right to a trial, and Steve was not in a position to ethically carry out a death sentence, especially on an unarmed man. Wasn't he, the legendary Captain America, the image of justice through law? Steve felt shame wash over him, and he quickly forgot his desire for vengeance. Instead, he focused his mind back on the mission: escape.

Steve undressed the operative and put the clothes on himself. The man's face looked very little like Steve's, but hopefully he would never have to face any guards before engaging them. The agent thankfully had a gun and knife on him, which Steve graciously took. He then propped the man up and tied his hands around a pole in the back corner of the room. Steve would call his friends inside the new S.H.I.E.L.D. and report the location of this place for them to sweep as soon as he got out, and then this maniac would be arrested.

Now armed and somewhat disguised, Steve felt prepared enough attempt the escape. He quietly opened the door and slipped through, easing it shut behind him. Straight ahead was a staircase leading up, presumably out of what must have been a basement to the ground floor. Steve soon found himself in a hallway with no furniture or wall adornments; just a closed doors on each side. He ignored these and continued walking until he encountered a door at the hall's end. It was shut and locked, but Steve's gut told him to go for it, so taking a step back, he ran forward and smashed the door off its hinges.

Steve took in room as quickly as he could. Two operatives were inside, but more importantly, there was a window leading to a street. The agents immediately pulled out their weapons and began firing at Steve, who fired back as he dove for cover behind a couch. The men must be directly in front of him, and if he so much as poked his head out from the sofa, he would receive a bullet. A smile curved up Steve's lip as he realized that these operatives had not planned well for an encounter with a super soldier.

Steve put his sidearm back in his belt and faced the back of the couch. Then, with all the strength he could muster, he began pushing against the furniture, gaining momentum with very quickly. In only a fraction of a second, he was running against the sofa, using it as a ram against his foes. He slammed it into the agents and sent them and the couch careening into the wall. He did not wait around to let them try to bounce back from his attack. He sprinted towards the window and jumped through it, shattering the glass with ease and continuing his run the moment his feet touched the pavement. He had to get away.

Steve didn't bother to use the sidewalk; he was going faster than the cars on the road anyway. He looked to his left and right as often as he dared, trying to recognize where he was. He was pretty sure this was D.C., but he wasn't sure which part. After cutting between traffic and streets, he slowed down and began moving as stealthily as possible, searching for any quiet place with people from whom he could borrow a phone.

Finally, he came across a green belt with clumps of trees and hilly trails, all ideal for hiding. He politely asking a young woman sitting on a bench for her phone, and after calming down her squeals of delight, he received the moblie device and called Sam Wilson.


	19. Chapter 19

****   


**{Chapter 19}**

* * *

The walk to Steve's apartment proved longer than he had thought it would be, perhaps as a result of his racing mind. Without anyone to back him up, he couldn't have really saved anyone from HYDRA, could he? Doubt continued to gnaw at Cap's heart as he walked in the shadows. He wasn't even sure that there had been any hostages. But he should have at least checked, shouldn't he?

Steve shook those thoughts from his mind as he reached his apartment. He recognized that his guilt was probably an advance of the curse as it tried to regain control, but he couldn't allow that to happen. He needed some very important belongings, and his thoughts could not be clouded while he executed the extraction. HYDRA was undoubtedly still here and on high alert.

The curse flashed a memory of Bucky, frightened and cold, falling from the train in Germany. His icy eyes had been calling for the help of a brother, and the sight of them before they retreated into the white blur was burned into Steve's head. Bucky's fingers had been mere inches from Steve's, his life's outcome shrunk within the measure of a hand. So close, he had been so close. And yet the famous Captain America had failed, and his friend had died, or rather, faced worse than death.

Steve's eyes misted over, and he blinked the tears away, but the pain in his soul remained. He looked down fearfully and saw that his arms were more hairy than they had been. No, not now! Steve could not let this happen to him again.

However then Steve gave that idea a second look. Wouldn't a dog be far less suspicious to agents than Captain America, whose face was plastered on half a dozen billboards in the surrounding blocks, not to mention TV and the web? Maybe he ought to bring down his safeguards, let the curse recover control for a couple of minutes, and sneak in as an husky.

This idea was so preposterous that Steve was not even sure that it could be passed as ethical. Surely accepting a curse was wrong. But then again, the dog form itself was not evil, and Steve would not surrender his mind to it. Though he didn't have a whole lot of time to find more arguments for either side, he felt that this was sufficient. Ignoring his instincts, he let go of a part of his hold on the curse and allowed it to consume his form.

The effect was immediate. The pain was not quite as severe as the first time he had transformed, and fortunately it took much less time, too. But it was still hard to bear, and when Steve was completely canine, he was panting and shaking badly. He took a few seconds to calm himself down and focus his senses before entering a stairwell and going up to his floor.

He passed two men that he was certain were sniper agents, however they just glowered at him as he passed them. To them, he was a regular pooch meandering through his holder's loft. The way to his room was somewhat open, and he pushed it forward with his muzzle and entered, taking in the circumstance rapidly. Three HYDRA agents were inside, two at the window and one situated alongside the entryway. All quickly centered their regard for the gatecrasher, however their interpretation went from ready to appall.

"Get out of here, you flea-bitten mutt," the man close to the entryway said abruptly, pointing a kick toward Steve. The husky limited past the blow and galloped into his kitchen, looking as much like a lively canine as he could. The two operators by the window snickered as their companion rose indignantly to her the dog outside. Steve deliberately drove the agent into his room, and once the man had cleared the entryway, the husky pounced.

His attack greatly surprised the agent, but even though he sank his teeth into the agent's shoulder without any problem, the man did call out as he hit the ground with a thud. Steve used his power and weight to slam the operative's torso against the tile flooring, knocking the man unconscious. He then fought the curse with all the mental energy available to his mind and felt his body slowly transform back into a human. Just before the other two agents arrived at the room's entrance, Steve smashed the door shut and pushed a chair to the handle.

The agents knew there was something incorrectly, however they didn't yet know who was capable, giving Steve a window just the length of it would enjoy them to reprieve down his entryway. He rapidly put on his dark blue stealth uniform and got his shield, the cool metal meeting his fingers with a willingness just found between a man and his weapon. He snatched up his dog tags, a change of clothes which he had left collapsed on his dresser days prior, and his wallet. He spotted a little duffle sack and threw the majority of his things in it, hurriedly zipping it close. At that point, in spite of the smash of time, he tossed open one of this drawers and withdrew his simple necklace with a cross dangling on it. It had once belonged to his mother, and she had told him to take it with him everywhere to remind him that he was never alone or defenseless. Because of this cross, or more accurately the One who had been on the cross, Steve had survived numerous fights, and now he would require the support of provision once more.

The door burst apart and the HYDRA agents rushed through, the first taking a shield to his face and the neck only having a few seconds to gaze in horror before Steve knocked him to the ground with one snappy punch. He took the duffle sack and rushed out the door, expecting that the agents had called for reinforcement. Finally, he threw a chunk of bread and a couple of pieces of fruit in his sack. He hadn't eaten in quite a while, and he would need to walk throughout the day to rendezvous with Sam at the selected secure location.

* * *

Pacing down the shadowy depths of the alleyway, Steve felt battered by the cruel words of the Red Skull caught in the tangling weaves of his rattled thoughts.

_"I thought you were strong to fight the demons. Now, I see that the good doctor's serum was a failure. You are a failure. A worthless coward who hides behind a shield. You never tasted true death. You only drowned in it for seventy years. All the men that gave their lives for independence and freedom. Those are fools. There is no freedom in this world. You are blind by ideals of truth and justice."_

Steve had taken the time to register what the sick and morbid curse the Russian occultist bedeviled him with when he was disarmed and focused on his best friend's distressed cries. He felt compromised by his own faults of not keeping both eyes open when engaging conflict. He failed to become aware of the unseen and obvious threat, and in result of his mistrust to his own gut instincts, he became a victim to a derange malediction of his own soul.  _A dog._  HYDRA transformed him into a dog. For what purpose? They had his blood...There was something else hidden beyond those walls of the lab. A secret that involved enslaving humanity within disheveled bodies of frighten and whimpering beasts-cats, dogs and livestock.

Now, the vigorous captain felt like a hostage in his own body. Steve felt like he'd been living on the razor's edge. He couldn't fight the dangerous necromancy without feeling his strength betraying him. It was a risk to escape from the secured safe house and it wasn't the method of extraction he intended to use in order to rid himself from the cages of the occult.

Still, he was hardened with disgrace. He'd failed to liberate the other transformed captives. He was aware of their cries for their hero-the ever vigilant and defiant Captain America to free from out of their prisons of both cage and body. He was no longer the unbreakable soldier -the heart and conscience of the Avengers. HYDRA marked him as a stray fading into his own grievances of the mistakes that he allowed to happen-faults he'd allowed good people to endure when defeat slashed against his shield. Although, he had managed to elude the operatives tracking him after he made a phone call with Sam...He did something that belittled him to the point that he felt despondent. He ran. Steve felt the twisting and clawing of the mounting self-remorse pile over his heart.

Steve had forced himself to believe that he was no longer a that spangled uniform hero. The soldier of nobility and compassion. Peggy would have been disappointed in him for not pushing himself to do what needed to be done for the sake of liberty and freedom. His eyes watered. He felt restrictiveness of his muscles under his uniform, he lowered his head dismally and released a haggard breath as he spared a glance down at his shield tucked under his arm. He couldn't scream out his fury, though, he wanted to release everything with a raw cry, his aggression became clogged and he was left to carry on his traispse with one recurring question filling his mind.

_Is this a test?_

* * *

After gathering himself up, Steve continued his walk through the dim streets, careful to keep his head down and remain in the shadows without drawing too much attention to himself. The routine slowly became unconscious, and when he didn't have to think hard about his movements anymore, Steve found that his mind was growing hazy. It was as if a dark cloud had come before his eyes, engulfing his thoughts even though his body was still moving towards his objective. It was cold and lifeless in the cloud, and his spirit sunk in the gloom. This was undoubtedly a result of the curse, but Steve didn't have the energy to combat it.

There was a sudden frightening sensation undulating through his body. At first Steve didn't respond to the pelting drops until his blue eyes discovered the thickening red shaping in the puddles underneath him. It was red rain that was dousing through his uniform. He challenged himself to gaze upward, and when he did, he saw a dead body of a S.H.E.L.D agent dangling from a bending of wires.

A sniper bullet was lodged in the man's skull and a symbol was craved over the ashen face. A dark and vicious symbol of HYDRA. It was a warning. "Who could have done this?" he dejected. His blue eyes soften and melted with tears. Blood dripped from his tousled blonde hair and slid over his eyelids, rolling aimlessly down his chiseled face. It demolished his spirit.

Feeling the warmth trickling over his skin, Steve screamed wildly as his heart seized in his chest. All of a sudden, everything had faded into murky darkness and he tasted the coppery tang seeping over his grimacing lips. A flicker of shadow invaded his space and caused him to feel immobilized. He was frozen against a brick wall, almost manhandled by an invisible and violent force. His arms rose above his head, and metal clasped over his wrists, a Russian words of a binding spell searing through his skin.

_Submit and taste the faults of your humanity. Become a prisoner of the guilt you carry...Grow weak and fall into the shadows, Captain America._

"Never," Steve gritted his teeth, swallowing down the venomous taste of agony, he knew he had to become stronger against the magic and more resilient as he tried to maintain himself from falling into physical exhaustion. His energy was draining out of him. His heart pounded harder and harder as a mixture of horror and despair overtook him. He didn't want to fail Bucky...He always wanted to prove to his best friend that he was strong-not weak.

The hex was pinning his body against the wall, it squeezed a vice like grip around his thorax and the pain lactated into his core as he felt his ribs tensing against the straggled breaths his lungs tried to produce. He was falling into a numb daze, stomach churned and blood flowed heavier as he felt the serum fighting against the noxious spell. The bewitchment was corrupting and exhausting his protesting muscles.

The curse was depleting him.

Before Steve could seize the opportunity to dissent, his voice was stifled with a cry of anguish as a force slammed his back harsh against the wall and his bones in the wake of the assault. He practically regurgitated bile as the hold of the dark spell was pushing against his body. If felt like hands yanked his shoulders with a violent grip of as the captain punched uselessly, preventing his windpipe from being fractured into pieces. It hurt to breath. He kept struggling; his right hand reached for his tormentors veiled face, trying to dig into the jaw. He had to fight gritty. No limits. Just was a of life and death. He refused to lose. A powerful blow slammed his back into the wall.

Through all the pain and darkness, Steve knew that there was light that could not be tainted or covered. It was that ideal that made him Captain America, and it had proven stronger than evil over and over in his life. He focused his mind on that light and spoke with defiance. "You can't make me give in," he seethed through his gritted teeth. "I hold to the light; day shall come again!"

Steve breathed in forcefully, raising his head and pressing his lips tight. His blue eyes glared agonizingly and angrily at his obscure assailant who now begun to put hard weight on his throat. "Y-Y-You...Won't win!" He sputtered with a frenzied snarl, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"It will be always darkness once the curses devours you-this world will be torn down and reconstructed by the ashes of humanity, righteous hero." The hooded figure taunted with a malicious Irish accent, his cruel dark eyes racking over the man caught inside the folds of his immobilizing spell. A bemusing jeer contorted on the diminished features of the man as he inched himself a breath far from Steve's loosen jaw. "HYDRA has numerous privileged insights that you have been kept oblivious about, Captain Rogers...Or would it be advisable for me to call you Canine America?"

Steve gazed into the icy eyes, yet his memory couldn't put them while his brain was so occupied and cloudy. The haziness appeared to be choking out him, creeping down his throat and filling his lungs with disgusting toxin. It blazed his mouth and nostrils, yet hacking had no effect. His sight couldn't genuinely puncture through the mist, and he was scarcely certain that those unnerving eyes and the dead voice fit in with a human.

"Who are you?" he asked at length, his voice a bit shaky, but still laced with his characteristic resilience. He was weary of this fight, but not yet beaten.

Receiving no response, Steve leveled his piercing icy orbs on the hooded face of a demon of his past. Dredmund Cromwell. A morbid and subversive cult leader with knowledge of alchemy and obsession of ancient magic. He'd harvested on humanity's weakness. He was a butcher of souls. Steve saw the aftermath of the hellish attack-charred bodies of children soaking up puddles of spilled blood.

Cracking his knuckles, the Captain kept his unyielding stare locked on the monster. His lips fastened into a taut grimace as he held onto his defiance. Not giving up the fight. "You think I'm a coward because of your spell...Measures of strength can be measured in smallest of creatures, Cromwell. he spat firmly. His eyes didn't avert from the serpent gaze glaring down at him. "You're not someone I fear. Cromwell..You're another bully who picks on kids."

Cromwell's rumpled lips stretched into a sadistic grin. "My work is a legacy that both the Red Skull and I share. Never did I imagine that you're defeat would be so easy., Captain America. You have been a thorn in our side for decades. Now, you have the taste of power that doesn't come from a bottle."

This time, his glower was loaded with only disdain and a darker malevolence than Steve had ever seen in man's eyes. He looked delicate under the shroud and the hallowness in his eyes were a demonstration of nonappearance of a human soul inside his rotting vessel. He possessed a scent reminiscent of death, and his straggly dark locks fell against his shoulders as he pulled off the hood. His face was indented in and wrinkled peculiarities. The hyper merriment in his smile cleared away that notion as tendrils of blue vitality reflected in his eyes; uncovering him to be every last bit the devil he was inside as he merciless laugh got away from his lips.

"Still ever the upright legend, are you not...boy?" He talked condescendingly as he made his moderate methodology. "That is the thing that you are profound within you. Still a young man accepting he can have any kind of effect amongst monsters and the individuals who are more capable than he could ever want to be." Cromwell pulled far from Steve, his extraordinary dark eyes bolted onto Steve's insubordinate soul. "Your confusions due you no credit, Captain...Neither your friend...Bucky?"

Steve gritted his teeth as those enigmatic words lashed over his heart. His slacked temples bundled and jaw set. He was at that point on the edge. The fever was igniting in his system. He refused to listen to the spiteful words ousting from the Druid's mouth. He wasn't going to submit to the denouncing tone jarring through his stiffening bones. He needed to break the fortification of the spell and find Bucky.

Lifting his stormy blue eyes, he gazed back at Cromwell with a fathomless look of resistance. "At what cost did you hope to gain, Cromwell?" he snarled, with no intention of holding back his fierceness towards the older man before him. "Tell me, how many more lives have you stolen for HYDRA?" He was looking deep into the mage, a sudden attentiveness came over him. Steve shot his eyes to the ground and upon receiving another wicked attack to his body, the captain released a pitiful whimper of a dog out of his bloodless lips.

"Long live America's greatest soldier..."

Steve didn't sit tight for more affront or dangers. With as much strength as he could assemble, he push his right knee into the unhinged man remaining before him. The blow arrived on Cromwell's upper belly, thumping the wind out of him. Steve knew he needed to exploit this opportunity before the devil could respond, so he pushed both his hands forward as hard as possible, pushing the druid back. Steve then spun to the side and got his shield, which appeared to give off its own light in the midst of the profound dimness. Presently outfitted with guard, Steve held up for an assault he was certain would come.

_Keep fighting, Rogers. Remember who you are...You're Captain America. You never quit. You always fight no matter the cost._

Feeling the high torrents of blood running furiously in his veins, Steve clenched his jaw, baring his teeth as breath fumed up his throat. It felt raw."You want to pick fight..." His livid eyes moistened with hot tears, in the contrast of pain, he managed to command his slackened features to become stone-like against the wrathful gaze of the mage. He wasn't standing down and allowing this breed of evil to win. "Come on," He banged his fist over the shield, creating a noise of challenge. He felt a harrowing sense of dread waver from his enemy. "Stop being a coward and face me..."

Cromwell gradually raised his gloved hand at Steve. "Ask yourself this, Captain," he growled with malignant words. "Are you ready to give up your life away to spare James Barnes?"

Steve started back a bit, a million emotions suddenly vying for control in his mind. What was this monster suggesting? That somehow the curse could save Bucky? That didn't make any sense, and based on HYDRA's track record, it was very likely just another one of their lies. Steve glared at the man as fiercely and defiantly as he could, but doubt was gnawing away at his mind, and his courage had faltered.

"What do you mean?" the Captain asked after Cromwell had let the question sink in for a few tensed moments.

Cromwell stayed still with a deadly look all over that showed up as if his skin had been eaten up by shadow. He wound his diminished lips into a vile smile before he immediately veiled it with a look of loftiness. He paused a minute and gazed into the molten sickness of blame shining Steve's blue eyes. He had the soldier dangling on the unraveling string of decision and emotion.

"James Barnes had to pay a price for his defiance. His emotional relapse cost us Pierce and left Rumlow screaming on the operating table. The Baron wants all those who disrupted Project Insight to pay. And now that your friend is suffering a fate worse than death, I guess he knows that it's far over..." He removed a clear vial of blood from his cloak's pocket, watching Steve's eyes darkened as he tipped the substance, and allowed his captive to stare at the collected sample he managed to steal from close to Steve's heart. "Now it appears you will share a fate no different, and truthfully captain..." He moved closer to Steve again and dropped the vial into the puddle. "I'm going to enjoy watching good people endure death because of your mistake of letting my live."

"You are going to tell me..." Steve's voice spiked in a pitch of hostility. He straightened to his full stature, his wrist secured under the straps of the shield. His skeptical heart beating with wavering shakiness. A flimsy line of blood streamed over his solid jaw, and his light eyes glimmered as he frowned at the mage provoking him with the vial of the blood removed from somebody near to him. He gazed blankly at the vial, the hold of his jaw affirmed his desperation."Who's blood is in the vial?"

"An old woman who wants to have a dance with you, Captain..."

Peggy.

_The world was a blaze of light and shadow. Divisions were interfering with them as the weight of tribute heaped over his heart. Everything became dim in those snippets of feeling her profound and rich cocoa eyes gazing toward him with a promise. It was danger of grabbing the strength to delight something unadulterated and solid that they clutched amid the murkiness of times of battle. He took a gander at her, surrendering himself to her with the earnest sparkle welled in his blue eyes. Time was selling out around them. Steve expected to advise her reality that she was more than only a fire in the sentiment circle of Captain America, she was his best young lady. ..His compass and quality. No lady would ever measure up to her...His Peggy Carter._

_Lights reflected over his graphite helmet, as Steve simply gazed down at her beautiful face, and he viewed her chocolate locks whipping noticeable all around as the rate of the auto was quickening with the same mood of his pulse. At that point, she inclined in closer, her hands gripped his midsection. She made the first move. Her red lips collided with his, and he completely offered himself to her, inclination all the blaze and ice consolidate as they both were giving up and discharging all questions and apprehensions. He shut his eyes, and permitted himself to appreciate this last minute with her. He felt stronger than he'd ever felt in the recent past._

_The weight of her delicate lips against his yielding mouth was hard and unrelenting, the wet warmth of their kiss touched off new saves of quality as he felt her fingers spreading unexpectedly firm over his midsection. His nose pressed against her nose as he kissed her absolutely breathless...He would not like to withdraw from her, he felt his whole body longing to admit his affection to her. He couldn't inhale against the inclination of her beauty collapsing over his lips, and when he pulled away, so abate and hesitant, he realized that she would dependably convey him inside her heart._

_Gasping for breath, Steve lifted his head up, shadowing over her as he looked down into her dim eyes and listened to her words. "Go and give them one for me."_

_He gazed back at runaway, a bit indeterminate at to begin with, however then his eyes settled on her, and his lips secured into a grin. She was his shield of bravery, trust and mortal direction. She was his backing. He felt the strength to ascend and face of the storm."Always do what Peggy says..."_

Steve's eyes widened and he involuntarily stretched out his hand towards the vile. Cromwell withdrew the flask, shaking his head and letting a crooked smile cross his wretched face. "Not so fast, Captain Rogers."

"What is it you want?" Steve demanded, his voice unrelenting, while he took a threatening step forward, his shield raised defensively as if it could ward off lies as well as it could bullets. "Don't you know it's never been my policy to negotiate?"

A glimmer of vexation crossed the mage's darkened features. He had been desiring to hear the Captain ever-so-stupidly argue for his opportunity in a disgraceful show of benevolence that was appropriate for an upright saint. But the Brooklyn kid decided to deny him even that. He did to cut deeper into the heart. "I think with once you know the truth about this blood in my hand it will change your mind."

He glanced down at the shield, his focal point was the five pointed star in the middle. Frustrated and blistering with vengeance, he took a brazen up forward and swayed the vial in front of Steve's harden face, waiting for the super- soldier to make an effort to push him down as he spat out a few words. "Inside this vial is the blood of Peggy Carter." Steve funneled what still remain of his calm exterior. "All it takes is one drop of blood to change nobility into vulnerability...If you want to save everyone you love including Barnes a certain deal to be made...Unless you rather them suffer for your mistakes..."

"What's the deal?" Steve dared to ask, his fingers gripping the shield tightly. His life and his freedom were both very high costs, but his friends were worth more, and if he had to lose everything for them, he would. Besides, he could not truly lose all that he had; hope would never leave him. "You take my life, do what you will to me, and spare them?"

"I have no intention of taking your life, Captain Rogers." Cromwell spat with a baneful tone, scowling at Steve with a vulgar look while his frail hand leveled with the shield. "I am going to take something of value from you..."

Steve felt his heart collapsing in his chest as he glanced at the cracks forming in the alloy of his shield.

 


	20. Chapter 20

** **

 

**{Chapter 20}**

* * *

Orange juice. That was all Sam Wilson could think about as he leaned against the counter top, gathering up heavy intakes of breath. It felt like he had just ran a marathon around Lincoln Memorial. His lungs were burning and blood sloshing through his veins. He had been enduring a new daily routine of training, pushing his limits with discipline methods of intense conditioning since the events of Project Insight. His body mass an evolved into hardened muscle gleaming with victorious sweat. He was on the brink of becoming something momentous. On the level of reaching a point of peak human conditioning, all the while becoming deeply committed into helping his new friend with his inner struggles of guilt and failure.

It was burden that all soldiers carried they returned home after their tours of duty that had involved running through hailing bullets of enemy fire, watching friends and brothers fall to the defeat of death.

Sam had lost Riley because he believed that his wing-man always made in through, but his emotions deceived him. All it took to make him keep both eyes open as a counter attack in the sky and the images of broken wings falling into pieces. When the smoke finally cleared, he saw what sacrifice and bravery meant. He saw what Riley carried in those final moments when liquid pumped into his veins. It was a wake up for him to carry on the fight and made a pledge to always watch his wing man's back. That's what the Falcon did when his wings caught the sun and his sharpened eyes were always locked on his prey and fellow soldiers. He saved many lives while allowing Riley's death to drive his need to save and protect grew deeper.

After returning to Washington, he formed a bond with Captain Steven Rogers, the living legend—at first it was a dream come true, but after seeing the threads of humanity become unraveled by lies and hellish attacks to destroy the name of liberty and peace, he knew it was was price that they all had to pay. A price of freedom.

He saw how HYDRA took take a good man—a brother and soldier and transform him into a monster. The Winter Soldier was a ravage beast of aggression and efficient precision. He was a cold-blooded killer. In someways, the ruthless hybrid of machine and humanity was the dark and shattered reflection of Captain America. (Red Star vs White Star) it was the colors that became ingrained in his mind. The symbols of death and liberty. He had entered another war. A war of freedom. Now, Sam felt like he was living on the edge of fighting structures of discipline and emotion. He practically on the front lines of a fallout battle, putting his trust and hope into a good friend who carried more than a shield.

It troubled him. He hadn't spoken to Steve after spending three weeks in Omsk, Russia searching for HYDRA safe houses written on the Soviet file Natasha had given to Steve that day went Nick Fury departed from American borders. The contents of the file included a written journal from Doctor Armin Zola, images of Barnes during his cryo stasis , and signed documents of military classified contracts of weaponry and subornation programs authorized by a KBG scientist Major General Vasily Karpov Head of Special Section: Department X.

All the papers that were documented in 1945 had scribbling with a name written across the fine print. Advanced Robotic Appendages and Attachment-The Winter Soldier Project.

It was the horror shop where Barnes had been subjected into mental implantation and sensory deprivation that reprogrammed his mind into alternate weapon with the purpose of becoming the world's most deadly, elusive and damaged assassin- codename: The Winter Soldier.  _The Fist of HYDRA._

Somehow, Sam had felt relived to receive Steve's call from a payphone. He couldn't suppress the growing sense of dread that weaved through his emotions. He had tried reaching Natasha through various contacts he had obtain by Sharon Carter. There was a missing piece of the warped puzzle. HYDRA always has an hidden agenda. For some reason, Steve didn't carry that unbreakable defiance in his voice, instead the baritone sounded detached and uncertain. In other words, he didn't sound like Captain America or Steve Rogers.

A stoic expression washed over his face. He felt fundamentally displaced. His regrets didn't avail. Steve needed his help. Captain America was calling him back to the battlefield whether it was in the sky or ground level. The Falcon would be there to watch his back. Sam Wilson would be there to guide Steve out the storms he faced. A friendship was a mission of burden.

Sighing, he opened the fridge door. His hand reached for the jug of orange juice. He needed to quench his thirst. He twisted the cap off and tilted his head back, allowing the cool relief of citrus wash down his heated throat. And then, he leaned his muscled frame slanted against the counter as his brown eyes spared a glance at the Soviet file. The twisted perversions and crimes of HYDRA etched in flesh and metal of wounded soldier. James Barnes. "What is the missing piece?" he whispered, taking another gulp before setting the jug down.

He flipped through the documents, and stared wistfully at photographs of a ghost. His eyes hardened as he traced his finger over a hidden slit, and took out another picture. Only this time, it was of a young woman with long hair and a man that resembled Barnes. It had faded with wear. The woman was stunning and beautiful. Both of them were dressed in leather and standing outside somewhere in Russia. Sam couldn't take his eyes away from beauty captured in the tainted shadows -she looked dangerous and alluring. He flipped the picture and scanned his gaze over words written in red:  _Winter Soldier and Agent Crimson spend an evening in Moscow nightclub among objective unsuspected. Two sniper bullets are found in target's heads the morning after. The mission was successful. The experiment has worked. Subject Winter Soldier has shown a breakthrough of having attached emotions towards Agent Crimson. They are equal weapons that will give HYDRA the clearance to activate Project:_ изоморфные (Morphous)

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "Agent Crimson?" he murmured skeptically; holding the picture to the light. "What's the connection?"

*Knock*

Steve found that knocking had taken far more effort than he would have ever thought necessary for so small an action. It felt like all of his limbs had tripled in weight; his whole body sagged as with exhaustion. He still carried his shield, but it had dragged on the ground when he ceased to be able to hold it higher, and now that he looked at it, he saw that the leather was torn and the paint was fading. How had that happened so fast?

Steve felt no better than his shield looked. After his strange, dream-like encounter with the druid, his strength had been draining steadily. The last ten minutes of his walk towards the rendezvous had been torturous, with pain flaring up randomly in both his body and soul. It seemed like he was being attacked on all fronts, most probably by the curse, and he was surprised that he had made it to Sam's house at all. Now, lifting his eyelids and panting, he prayed that Sam was here and able to answer the knock before Steve collapsed on the doorstep.

The door slid open in the instant Steve coughed up blood. Sam leaned against the steel frame, his dark eyes settled onto the wounded captain with grave concern. He wasn't excepting his friend to look haggard, battered and weakened. His heart plummeted down into his stomach as he noticed a thin line of blood dripping from Steve's split lip. "Hey, man. Are you okay?" he addressed with abashed expression. His eyes didn't leave Steve's bruised face during that long moment between them. Steve lurched forward, his pale blue eyes watered with anguish. His blonde hair was ashen by streaks of dirt. He stared. "What happened?" He blinked, his steady gaze narrowed to the cracked shield clutched in Steve's arm.

"What hasn't?" Steve said in a very raspy voice as he fell into a chair at the nearby kitchen table. He let the shield, which felt like a load of bricks, fall from his grasp and slide to the floor, the dull clang resounding in his ears. Everywhere that the chair touched his body burned with pain. Sam's concerned face made Steve wonder how bad he looked. How much of his encounter with the mage had been a dream?

"I've been having a little HYDRA trouble," Steve explained when he had regained some of his breath. "Turns out that spells, or at least magic curses, aren't just found in stories."

"Wait, hold on a sec," Sam quickly went to the cupboard, grabbed a glass and pour juice inside. He had to remain calm. He had to become straight forward, Steve was vulnerable and from the looks of ashy blemished on his pale face-weakening. "You're telling the truth about magic spells and hocus pocus stuff? And you're not suffering from delusions because your blood sugar is low? Because if you're really being honest with me with this, Steve. I want to know everything that happened to you before I received your phone call." He drew out a deep breath handing the glass to Steve. "I mean it, Cap. The truth, the whole and nothing but the truth."

"Do you really expect anything else from me?" Steve asked, a smile pulling at his lips. This quickly vanished as his face twisted in agony. Pain was flaring up in his chest and running through his veins like boiling acid; he wondered if he could carry on a conversation for very long.

"It's not delusions. At least...the parts that were physical were not delusions. I have also had some dreams that were real but not physical. It's hard to explain, and I don't understand it myself, but I'll do my best."

Sam instantly crouched down in front of Steve, lifting the glass and placing it into the captains's large and clammy hand. His skin felt cold."Take a few sips of juice, and then breathe." he instructed unconvinced that his friend had been subjected to the unrealistic terms of magic. A spike of worry cleaved in his chest. His voice reached an edge of concern. "Just breathe, Steve."

Steve cooperated, and the juice helped a little. He set the cool glass onto the table just as an idea appeared in his mind. There was one sure-fire way to make Sam both believe him and understand what the situation truly was. Although it was insane and possibly harmful, Steve was tired of fighting and unsure if words would really do the situation much justice, so he let his idea come to life.

Without warning his companion, Steve allowed all the walls he had built up in his mind against the curse to collapse.

The effects were immediate as his body surrendered to the transformation of the husky, and though the pain was terrible, it was not much worse than what he had been enduring for the last several hours.

Groaning, Steve slid out of the chair and ended up on all fours on the floor. Heaving out strained breaths, his eyes fixed on the golden fur growing out of his skin. His gut clenched with fear that maybe that was a mistake. He was already weaken, how could he possible survive another transformation from human to dog without feeling his insides explode? Bowing his head to not look into Sam's eyes, he pressed his lips into a tight grimace. "Sam," he whispered, his eyes landed on the shield where the beam of sunlight touched the center star. "Don't panic...I want to show you what has happened to me."

Steve kept his light blue eyes locked on Sam, fur quickly covered his body, his face held all the anguish. The reaction was instantaneous. His heartbeat sped up as though it were soaring through an actual race. His tight muscles grew tighter and his bones began to shift and restructure themselves. His mass shrunk and his skin changed into fur. His jaw bone stretched and his nose with it. He was no stranger to the transformation however unlike the pain he'd experience beforehand, his body had now grown to accept and embrace it. Screams no longer carried despite the groans of discomfort; what obscured them was the crackling of bones and the shifting of mass.

A small dog whimper escaped his lips, but for the most part he was silent as the magic did its work. Fortunately, the process only took a few seconds, and when the transformation was complete. It wasn't long before a fully grown husky stood underneath the table with a pelt that resembled Steve's hair color. The strong and powerful dog wobbled faintly and glanced around curiously to take in his surroundings. His icy eyes landed on Sam and waited for his friend to react.

Steve looked up at Sam to see how his friend would react.

Sam froze in a heartbeat. His brown eyes widened in shock. The world titled as his footing became unbalanced.

Staring down at the light furred husky made a unsettling knot of dread form in his stomach. It wasn't real. How could a 240 pound super-soldier transform into a drooling dog? "Steve," he gasped, words failed as he chanced another befuddled glance at the dog wearing Captain America's dark blue stealth uniform. His fingers slid over his goatee as his brown eyes were focus on the animal panting with his tongue sticking out with those familiar piecing blue eyes. The flames of relentless strength.

The gaze of Captain America.

There was no way...No way that Steve was involved with magic. It wasn't impossible. Trying to convince himself, Sam lost his balance, nearly toppling to the floor, however his hand gripped the ledge of the counter and he forced his weight up against the fridge. "Dude, it looks like you've been through a lot," He commented, concern and bewilderment crossing his dark features. He took a deep and forceful breath. His heart twisted in pain. "How did this happen to you?"

Steve, despite his heavy exhaustion, began fighting the curse in his mind again. It seemed harder to defeat this time than it had in the past, and he worried for a moment that he was too weak, but finally he noticed that he was changing back into a human. His uniform slowly closed in against his newly formed human limbs, and after almost a minute of intense pain, he was himself again. He let out a groan and climbed back into his chair, looking at Sam and panting as he tried to regain his breath.

"It's a long story," Steve answered in rasp.

After a few minutes of listening to the details, Sam pulled out a chair and settled down next to Steve. "The way you explained everything about this strange curse, its seems like HYDRA has more secrets than SHIELD knew about, Cap." He released a shaky exhale, his folded hands rested on the table.

A heaviness piled on his chest and his brown eyes leveled down at the damaged shield. Doubt and turmoil fled through his mind as he searched beyond the painful sting into the blue eyes of the super-soldier. He couldn't allow Steve to carry this struggle and mission alone. "Steve," his voice grew softer, however, the strength in his words could not be mistaken. "I can't tell you if there's a way out of this for you, but I can help you in any possible way that I can." He could see fear and sorrow in Steve's eyes that made him realize there was another factor at work here.

"Where is this modern day hocus pocus freak?" He whispered quietly. "You mention that some Baron is in charge?" He looked down at the shield.

"Strucker," Steve answered, his voice still hindered by his torn throat. He coughed a couple times and then clarified. "Baron Wolfgang von Strucker, I think. He's got some sort of lair here in the city, in a house basement." Steve swallowed hard. "I know where it is."

"Okay...You get some rest...I will get a few things together, I want you sleep for at least two hours, Cap," Sam affirmed him in a vaguely concern voice, his features expressing a semblance of unease.

Steve would have objected, but he knew that his friend was right. Besides, he wasn't sure he could stay sitting up much longer anyway; he desperately needed rest. He nodded to Sam's suggestion and carefully rose from the chair, headed the seemingly long distance between the kitchen table and the couch. When he finally reached his destination, limbs burning and eyes threatening to close on their own accord, he turned to face Sam one more time.

"Don't you dare let me sleep too long," he said, his serious tone failing to cover a small smile. "No matter how good rest will do for me, it won't matter if we can't fix this problem soon."

When Sam mustered enough strength he walked closer to the couch, and crouched down at Steve's side. His hand gripped the super-soldier's wrist with a squeeze of reassurance. He sighed momentarily taking a few seconds to compose himself, despite feeling of the lacerating pain cutting deep inside him. Then, he looked into Steve's aqueous blue eyes and said, "Cap, you know that you're not alone in this fight. Whatever course of action you choose, I will follow..."

"Thanks, Sam," Steve said with a grin before drifting into a deep sleep.

"No problem, Cap." Sam returned, his doleful brown eyes looked down at the soldier. "Whatever you need, Steve. Just ask. My place is your home until the heat dies down. HYDRA will have a tough track you here. Just don't go changing into a dog without my knowing, okay?" He felt a brush of a smile grace over his features. "You have good rest." He patted his hand lightly over Steve's broad shoulder. "You deserve it."

"Sam— "

"Nope, I'm not going to listen to you order me around, Captain America." He straightened to his full height, crossing his arms over his drenched shirt. "You're under my roof and you follow my rules. Get some rest, and I'll go make you a big breakfast."

"I can't stay here, Sam," Steve released a despondent sigh. "I'm not risk putting your life in danger. You're a good friend and soldier. It will be selfish of me..."

"Captain America needs my help," Sam said in a serious tone. "Look, I know that you think you can fight these guys alone, but look at happened when you faced with the Winter Soldier back in the Tri-carrier." Steve meet his gaze with hazy blue eyes. "My point is, Steve, you don't have to carry this mission alone. I know the risks and I will do all that is in my power to free you from this curse and get you back into fighting form."

Steve felt a frown brush over his paling features. His burning eyes gleamed like ice as a hint of light reflected over him. "There is someone I want to visit, in case I fully become lost." He whispered softly, not having the strength nor the desire to put on a charade of indifference. There was no point of lying to Sam or himself. He didn't know how much time he had left before the enchantment devoured his mortality, however, he knew that he couldn't leave without saying goodbye to his best girl.

He had to spend one more moment with Peggy...

He settled his glistening eyes on shield. "I need to see Peggy and tell her..."

Sam nodded, understanding his friend's heart. "Okay, I'll make a few calls and arrange a visit for you at the nursing home."

Steve suddenly started as his mind came to consciousness. He tried to sit up, but he realized he was already standing. The air about him was hazy and filled with clouds. He closed his eyes and opened them over and over as he tried to clear away the mist, but it did no good. He stretched out his hand, and the clouds receded a bit, but still they pressed in at him from all around. Desperate to understand what was going on, Steve called out, but only silence answered him.


	21. Chapter 21

 

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**Chapter 21**

* * *

His life had taken an unexpected turn.

Steve couldn't fathom that his best friend had been unmade into HYDRA's secret weapon. He felt betrayed. Fury kept him left in the dark about the Soviet ghost files containing information on the Winter Soldier. Everything he stood for- bravery and truth was being swallowed by the shadows deception. Captain America was becoming a dying legend. Though he saved innocent lives and used himself as shield to protect people from harm, he felt used.

The world's greatest soldier, the Sentinel of Liberty was falling into an abyss of his own mistakes and regrets. He had once fought for valor, freedom and hope. He sacrificed so much to ensure the safety of his country and the world to never face the darkness alone. Blood, sweat and tears. That was his contribute for the price of freedom.

In the end, he was the one who had lost the war-Bucky was haunting dream that kept relaying in his mind. Natasha was a glimpse of stability for a life without the uniform and Sam was his conscience that helped him overcome the struggles that weakened him.

Peggy was his heart...His way back into a life where darkness never fell.

He sat by her bedside. He had been there for almost a full hour. At first, it was difficult to push himself to visit her. Peggy was his lifeline. She'd always had been during the thick of battle. In a way, she was in his calm against the rages of storms he had faced as Captain America. He loved her. And never did a day go by, where he had wished for a chance to tell her. After the events of Project: Insight. He felt... different. His mind wasn't focused on preparing for the next mission. He had reached a standstill—a dead pass on the road of choices.

He had been reading some of the books Sam recommended for him. He was slouched in the chair, his dark blue jacket unzipped, revealing a plain white shirt. The text blotted on the pages as he rested the book on denim of his faded jeans as he couldn't focus. His hand reached over the wrinkled blankets and lightly gripped her frail wrists and brought soothing heat over her wrinkled skin.

"Did I make the right choice, Peggy?" he asked in a low voice, sparing a glance at the photos of her children. Every time he stared at the pictures of Peggy smiling with her arms wrapped around her son and daughter, he felt a sting of guilt enter his heart. A tiny part of him wanted to go back into time and spend a life with her. Maybe they could have lived near a lighthouse, their backyard the ocean and he could have danced with her every sunset. "I wanted to dance with you and to never let you go...I guess I lost you when the plane went down."

"Steve," Peggy nearly choked on a wheezing breath. The strain of her lungs was audible. Her frail hand caressed over his rough knuckles, but her dark brown eyes were bright with an everlasting promise. Her gaze wasn't focused on him; he was an illusion to her. "You came back and that is all that matters..." She coughed, a tears rolled down her cheeks. The pain was becoming too much for her. "You cannot blame yourself for the choice you made, Captain. You saved the world and gave me strength to finish my missions. In a way, you never left me, my darling."

He stared at her for a long moment. Eager to say his confession. "No, I never left you," he said softly, despite the churning unease of guilt devouring his stomach. He lifted her precious hand to his shaky lips and pressed a kiss over her knuckles. A tentative and confident smile crossed over the fullness of his lips. He couldn't let her see his pain. "Hey, I'm here now, Peg." He leaned closer against the inclined bed, not letting her hand slip away. His eyes flicked down, as he thought to himself, allowing his mistakes to condemn him. "You know I had a chance to read up on your SSR file from 1945. You never back down from the mission, even though there was a price that had to be paid."

She lightly smiled, her dulling eyes fixed on him. "I had a great run back in New York. Some of best men and agents I have ever had the honor working with in the office. Most of them thought I was a lunch maid that fetched them coffee and sandwiches. After trust became asset, they formed a great structure together with you always there to guide me back if I drifted further away from my pledge."

Steve grinned at her words, averting his eyes to the piles of books and letters on her dresser. His head dropped as he folded his hand his lap. "I read that Howard Stark made a few mistakes with his weapon contracts. Selling them to the Soviet army and making you take on the action in the line of fire. I also discovered that you saved his life on a radio when he was flying a toxin into the heart of the city." Steve smiled to himself, and his blue eyes stared down at her withered hand. "You saved a lot of lives for just being a coffee dame, Peggy."

"I couldn't guide you back home." She wheezed her voice full of regret and pain. She gazed elatedly at him; her brown eyes glistening with tears. He hadn't aged a day. His blonde hair was short and spiked that complimented his chiseled features. His alluring pale blue eyes still held that fiery determination and defiant spirit.

In a way, Steve had changed. He wasn't the same man she had loved for a lifetime. He had become distant and guarded with his emotions. She saw through his boyish charm. "You came back when the world needed a hero to lead us out of the dark." She slitted her old bejeweled eyes, searching in his blue ones. "I can see that you have lost your way back to Brooklyn...Something happened to you, Steve."

Steve felt like he had just taken a round of HYDRA bullets to the chest, piercing and making his bleed out all emotions; pouring out gallons his strength onto the floor; pouring out his guilt in a relentless stream. It hurt him to even think about Bucky, but he managed to hold his lips into a smile for her; knowing that he had to be strong for Peggy. He didn't want her to know the truth that dwelled in the haunting blue eyes of the Winter Soldier; no matter how much he wounded him inside.

"How do I get back to Brooklyn, Peggy?" he asked after swallowing his pain as best he could. "Things aren't black and white anymore, and people don't want someone to stand up for what is right. How can I choose between wrong and less wrong?"

"But people need someone who will stand up for what is right," Peggy answered, clenching Steve's hand tighter. "You have to remind them what is worth fighting for. And maybe you need to remind yourself, too."

Steve blinked as he considered that. What was his goal? Ever since HYDRA was first revealed to still be in existence, he had simply been trying to stop them, not thinking about his own ideals or what he stood for. His view of the battle had been negative. Perhaps to become worthy of the title Captain America once more, he need to focus on what he was fighting for, not what he needed to overcome. He fought for good, not just against evil. He fought for freedom, not just against tyranny. He fought for love, not just against hate.

He smiled tentatively at her. His gentle and fathomless blue eyes gleaming with warm tears, however confidence sliced through the obscuring regret as wave of peace enveloped over him. His long, dark eyelashes lowered against his face as looked at her withered hand, peering at the white line of where her wedding ring used to sit against the wrinkled skin. He sighed, trying to hold grace in his heart. "That's the problem; I just don't know what freedom is anymore, Peg. I thought I could move on from the past, but somehow it managed to find me again."

"Our past is our history, Steve," Peggy wheezed. "And our history defines us. It doesn't bind us down; it spurs us on. Steve, use who you are to become who you need to be."

Steve looked into Peggy's brown eyes and saw hope and determination, undimmed by years, still burning fiercely. He wished he could draw from that source; he wished she could be there to encourage him in his darkest times, but she was here, lying stuck in this hospital bed, just waiting for age to take its final toll. It was now more than ever that Steve needed Bucky, his friend and fellow soldier, at his side.

He was fighting against the silent lucidly. "I..." Steve begun. She gazed at him as he struggled against his regrets, looking down at the floor with disdain shrouding over his face and looking back up to her again; lips holding a gentle smile. "I've been fighting a never ending war; each time I closer to ending it another form obstruction whether danger or emotion manages to block my path." he admitted, sadly.

"You don't fight alone, Steve," Peggy replied. "Find your allies and don't be afraid to let them help you. Even Captain America is human, and perhaps that's what makes him so worthy of the people's respect. Steve, Captain America has never fought alone. He's not a one-man-show; he's a leader of men, often the companion of friends, too. Why try to change things now?"

His eyes stung with unshed tears. He took a deep miserable breath; trying to suppress the grieving noise rattling in his chest. Something inside of him stirred; he was still Captain America, a soldier of valor and trust—a symbol of freedom. He needed to prove to himself that he could be more if he refused not to surrender to those haunting images of the Winter Soldier—Bucky was standing on top of a vehicle wearing that menacing mask and aiming a gun at Natasha. It cut into him deep, twisting a shunt of ice into his heart when his thoughts brought him back to the moment he saw those familiar pale blue eyes hidden underneath long hair and darkness. There was no emotion, just a hallow glare of a machine.

"Something happened to me in these last few weeks, Peggy." Steve said in a soft voice, he did his utmost to hold back the tears. "I thought I could be strong enough to face the pain, but when I looked into the eyes of HYDRA's weapon I saw my own reflection." He swallowed his breaths remain even as he looked into her dimming eyes. The weight of remorse sank into his heart. "James Barnes is alive." He couldn't tear his eyes away from her wrinkled face. He had to tell her the truth, maybe there was a chance she knew more about Bucky's tortured past under the red shadow of Russia, "Zola woke him up from the ice when we grieved that long winter and accepted the choice Buck made the moment he'd let go..."

"James is alive?" Peggy asked in almost a strangled gasp. Her expression became dumbfounded and confused. "But Steve, that's impossible! It's been so long since he fell, and surely he could not have survived the injuries he would have sustained." Peggy searched Steve's expression, and although she could hardly believe what he said, she knew that he was not lying. Finally, she decided to accept what he said— _had not stranger things happened?_ —and deal more directly with the problem. No wonder Steve was so troubled.

"Where is he, Steve? Where is James now?" she urged, her tone broken as her heart ached for Steve.

"It doesn't matter," Steve said and his lips held into a disdain curl. His blue eyes shifted to the old photograph of the Howling Commandos on her dresser.

Bucky was standing in the center next to Dum Dum Dugan and Gabe with his rifle slung over his shoulder and his bright confident smile was warm and brotherly.

A painful swell erupted in Steve's chest, but he refused to allow it to settle against the muscle. "James is lost to us, Peggy. I want to believe that I can find a way to bring him back." He was feeling sorry for Bucky and himself. He wanted to find peace beyond the strongholds of doubt. "I don't know if he would want to become the good soldier again."

"Steve," Peggy began, her voice softer and gentle, "if I knew anything about Sergeant Barnes, it's that he was as stubborn as a mule. No matter what HYDRA or anyone has done to him, I believe he can and will heal from it. Don't you trust that the man who was your friend and brother will not let HYDRA win, whether it's a battle of soldiers or a battle of the mind?"

Steve narrowed his eyes, absently. His own creeds had been tangled into a vow of silence. He felt stripped to the bone when he heard the effort of her words bring him back to the moment of allowing himself—the kid from Brooklyn and the super-soldier to fight against the internal struggle and surrender to the choice that could define the life he was now living.

"You're right, Peggy," he finally said, it was a rippling effect of his emotions. He knew there was no easy road to become taken; he had to walk the straight and narrow path of idealistic and fundamental truths of the other half of the world—he couldn't back down from this fight, not when Bucky depended on him to bring him back home. "I have to trust Bucky; I've trusted him all my life, so why would I stop there when he needs to have a friend to carry his struggles with him."

He snapped his gaze back up, his fingers stroking through the silver strands of her hair fanned across the pillowcase. "In my early years in Brooklyn, I used to fight because I wanted to prove to myself that there was no other way to win. After all my battles and loses, I finally know what I'm fighting for...If I turn my back on that now, Bucky will never see his victory."

He stared at her for a long time, searching for the unquenchable fire in her rich eyes. He knew she was ashamed of her withered body, but she still looked beautiful and despite his heart's pledge to carry on the good fight, he wanted to go back in time change the course of his actions; find a way to fix every mistake and the simmers of hesitation that kept him guarded from her. "I want you to know something, my best girl...» He hand slid gently over her frail and sagging jaw, and he looked sincerely into her eyes-her heart.

"I could have never become Captain America without you, Peggy." A tear slid down her face, and he wiped out the damp line of her pain with a tender brush his thumb, before He took out the silver compass, opening it for her to see that tarnished photograph of her younger-self. "You've always led me in the right direction..."

"I may have led you, Steve," Peggy said, squeezing Steve's hand tighter in her own and locking her gaze with his blue eyes, "but you were the one who was Captain America." She swallowed her emotion as best she could and kept her eyes fixed on Steve. "The world has changed, Steve, but its needs never will. You job isn't to become like it, but to stay the way you are. That's what America needs, that's what your Avengers need, and that's what Bucky needs. They don't need another government agent or soldier; they need a hero. Be the hero you were in our day, and I will always be with you."

Steve didn't say anything. He rose from the chair, leaned over and pressed his lips over her clammy forehead. His soft kiss unraveled warmth against her aging face and he closed his eyes, holding back his tears. His finger wove through her curls. "I owe you so much more than a dance, beautiful." He whispered, slowly pulling away from her. "I have to go, Peg, but I promise that next time I will share that dance with you."

"Steve," Peggy looked up at him. Her eyes damp with tears. She struggled to breathe. She felt helpless and indomitable at the same time. Her lips pressed tight and her shaky hand gripped his wrist. "Please don't leave me..."

"Peg," Steve tried his best to stifle his lips into an unfaltering smile. "No matter what happens after I walk out of this room, I will come back to you."

She nodded gently, and whispered as she felt her heart sigh. "I will be waiting, Captain."

* * *

Steve woke up with a severe headache. He groaned a little as his broad form lifted off the cushions. Spectrums of muted afternoon light streamed through the window and reflected over the silver embossed star on his uniform. A thick smell of heavily greases bacon sizzling in the fry pan made his empty stomach emitted a discontent rumble as entwining scent of, he sniffed...scrambled eggs melting in cheese teased his nostrils. He blinked his feverish blue eyes fully open and readjusted himself out of the dream. He swept his gaze across the room, and focused on the shield propped against chair across from his view. Cracks of rust were slowly eating away at the red paint and vibranium.

"How long was I out?" Steve asked aloud, rubbing his temples. The pain in his head was very acute, and he wondered if normal ibuprofen would have any effect on him. It was hard to think straight when his skull was nearly ringing with aches. Why was his shield deteriorating that way? Steve felt both physical pain in his head and psychological pain in his soul to see the white star, representing freedom, appearing so defeated.

"Three hours," Sam replied as he leaned against the wooden molding. His arms crossed over his solid chest. His dark eyes rove over the beads of sweat that clung to Steve's forehead. Concern for his friend didn't recede. "I made a few calls and managed to contact Sharon. All arrangements have been made for you to spend a few hours with your-Peggy Carter." He settled his pensive gaze onto the fracturing shield. "I think we should change your look up a bit, if Captain America is once again a wanted fugitive by HYDRA...we need you to go undercover. I have a few baseball caps; mind you I don't have anything with the Brooklyn Dodgers..."

Steve chuckled. "Well, Tony tells me that they've moved to Los Angeles since my day. I guess I need to find another team." He turned his gaze back to his shield and decided to ask the question that was eating up his mind as quickly as the rust was eating up the vibranium. "What do you think is going on with the shield?"

"Well, there's a possibly that some form of hydrofluoric acid was sprayed onto the shield during your alleyway brawl with the magic dude." He eased his back off the frame, and moved closer to the chair. His index finger slid over the cracks that were engaged in the center of the star. He stole a glance at Steve, underneath those iron layers of the soldier; Steve looked ambivalent.

The trash can lid was a piece of him-an element of protection he used to save lives from hails of bullets, energy blasts and fire bombing. Without his shield, Captain America would look just like another soldier-it was a symbol of strength and a promise of freedom. Still, it felt weird for Sam to conceive the truth. He analyzed the details—reached another dead end. Once again there was another missing piece of the puzzle. "I'm no chemist, but I do know that there are acids in this world that can eat away metal. You should have Stark run some tests before it reaches rapid corrosion."

"Stark," Steve mumbled aloud as he weighed his options. Should be bring the other Avengers into this? Considering what HYDRA had already done to him, it didn't seem wise to give him access to the only defense system the world had. Still, it would be so nice to have more friends by his side. But he had Sam, and that was more than good enough.

"I don't want to bring the Avengers in on this," Steve announced in a hoarse whisper; it felt like a punch in the gut as his gaze drifted over the shield. This was unfathomable. He needed answers. If he failed to complete his task Bucky would never become restored. He grieved for his friend once, and he made a promise that would never allow HYDRA to win.  _Never surrender._ "...but if you think the shield needs immediate attention, I can send it over Tony before we do anything else. He doesn't have to know what happened to it right away."

Sam crouched down at his side, placing his hand over Steve's tensed shoulder. The captain looked so lost and distant. Harden with penitence. He wasn't used to seeing his friend anything less than brave and stubborn. Whatever, HYDRA planned for his fate, Steve whether human or dog had to fight. Sam pulled his lips into a confident smile and stared directly into soldier's gaze. "You've never given up all these seventy years. You pushed onward. Yeah, you sometimes look like a stray dog, but you're Captain America. You can fight the impossible when others can't...» He gestured a hand to the shield. "Your shield doesn't make you the hero that people like me believe in, Steve...It's a just a piece of metal. You are the symbol."

Steve smiled, encouraged by his friend's words. "Well, let's hope I don't start rusting, too. If I am a symbol, then I've had better days. Do you have any ibuprofen I could take?"

"I do." Sam grinned faintly, easing himself onto his feet. His disquieted eyes settled on the blemished skin underneath Steve's broad jaw. A bruising imprint of a hand. He had begun to feel the reduced doubt building in his veins again. His breath evened out slowly and he blinked and peeled his gaze away from the soldier. "I will give you a few after you're finished eating this big breakfast I prepared for you. I hope you're hungry, Cap?"

Steve noticed Sam's expression, and he wondered how bad he seemed if his friend was so concerned for him. Hopefully he didn't look worse than he felt; if so, he must appear like a monster. To ease Sam's mind a bit, Steve tried to be as cheerful as he could.

"Hungry?" Steve groaned, shaking his head. "I'm starving. Now how about some of that good-smelling bacon?"

Torrents of relief surged him for a few moments. He looked down at Steve lifting his bulky form off the cushions. "I wasn't sure if you liked bacon and eggs. It's a traditional American breakfast...I do have protein bars. I got a box stashed in my cupboard if you want that instead?""

"I am a pretty traditional guy," Steve said hinting a smile, "...and who doesn't like bacon?"

Steve rounded the couch and took a seat at the kitchen table. The smell of the wonderful food seemed to take away a bit of his headache, but his temples still throbbed painfully. He hoped this was only a result of all that had happened to him, not part of the curse. He would need himself to be in prime condition, both in body and mind, in the coming days, he knew. There was a lot for him to do.

He slid the strips of crispy and fattening bacon on a plate next to the golden fluffy mound of eggs. Layering of cheese dripped down a slope. Sam listened to Steve's stomach rumbled with discontentment. He swaggered to the table, placing a jug of orange in front of disheveled captain. "So after you're finished, we'll find you a change of clothes and then see Peggy Carter at the nursing home."

He caught a glimpse of a disarming look into Steve's heavy blue eyes as set the plate down. He drew out a heavy sigh, "I know you still have feelings for her, man...I think a part of you wants to go back. A soldier has dreams when he comes home, and most of them involve sharing a life with a woman like Peggy." He pulled out a down and sat down. "Is that what makes you happy...Her?"

Steve released a bit of a chuckle as he swallowed a big bite of eggs."Yeah, I guess so. She's...she's just not like anyone else I know. Even being in the same room with her makes me feel better." He found that a wide grin was spread across his face, but then his expression was shadowed by grief, and he looked back at his plate. There was a rending pulsate in his chest. He was driving himself back into the icy abyss. "Seeing her so old and frail hurts more than any other change I've had to get used to."

"You know growing up in Harlem and being a minster's son was a tough way to live." Sam replied genuinely watching Steve's blue eyes glisten with moisture. After inevitably feeling the dullness of his own guilt, he spoke in a low and yet somber cadence. At least he had someone to confine with, other than just letting remain bottled up inside.

"After my father was killed by the very same people he tried to save from a switch blade gang; I always tried my best to do what felt right. I'll admit it was hard to live without his hand on my shoulder. I made mistakes and went down the wrong path during my high school years. I thought I had nothing left, my mom was killed by a mugger and my circle of friends kept getting smaller...After seeing the darkness in some young kids hearts, I made a choice and carried my father's legacy by helping people with their problems." He paused in faint reverence and reflected on his past. "I sometimes go back where I first started, it's my home and I can't forget that there is good left in this world, it may be a small number...It's all I need to know that I'm fighting for something. That's what makes me happy."

Steve grinned at his friend, and after taking a swig of orange juice and swallowing his own emotion with it, he cleared his throat. "Sounds like your happiness is pretty productive. You should take me with you sometime; maybe it would make me happy, too. Stark is always bugging me about finding hobbies besides "napping in icebergs", and it would be nice to help people in ways other than punching bad guys."

"It's not Brooklyn," Sam joked, taking a sip of juice, but his tone grew a tad bit more serious. "I spend most of my time in basement of an old church where my dad used to preach. A lot people have made it a place of refuge. Sometimes I like give up a bit hope, because heaven knows they need every day." His eyes lowered at Steve's empty plate. He sighed. "Whatever is happening to you, Steve, it's not going to stop you from fighting." Steve lifted his softened gaze to him. "We'll find way...Storms don't last."

"Too bad my umbrella isn't in too good of shape," Steve said in a blasé tone, glancing back at his shield. "I guess I will just have to get wet."

Sam inhaled sharply, listening to the captain's wistful tone. His expression instantly went stoic and vague. His dismal eyes downcast at the empty juice glass. He nodded mutely, feeling a sudden wave of tension that had withdrawn him from emotion and then resettled a momentarily gaze at the soldier's rough knuckles. He felt the muscles in his chest twitch against a nagging ache.

He wasn't ready to watch his friend suffer under HYDRA's shadow, and he had a right to become concerned about the outcomes of Steve's choices in the next forty-eight hours. There wasn't much time.

Sam sighed for a long moment, allowing the silence to linger between them, until his voice questioned the disheartening question. "So, what happens if you can't save yourself from this HYDRA curse, do you fully change into that dog again and lose everything that makes you human?"

Steve's expression sobered and he let out a slow, wavering sigh of his own. "I don't know for sure, but I think you're right. At least, when I was a dog at first, it felt like my humanity was deteriorating. It's almost as if HYDRA has a way of disintegrating a person's soul, though philosophically I know that's impossible. I guess they're killing your spirit—your being—in a new way. Rather than your soul fleeing your body at once, like usually happens at death, it departs much more slowly. I don't know if you can get it back once it's gone; this topic is just too hazy for me to fully understand. I honestly know nothing for certain."

"There is no common ground between evil and good." Sam replied with a hint of weariness in his voice. He stretched out his hand to Steve's shoulder, brotherly. He felt unreasonably comfortable doing that gesture. "I do know that sometimes are certain, Cap." His voice locked in his chest, the grief was almost intolerable for him to fight against. They shared an understanding look. "You will beat this," He kept his tone firm and eyes determined as he looked into Steve's steadily blue ones. «I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you will have victory when this war ends."

Steve felt the warmth of Sam's hand spread all over him, and he genuinely grinned. "Thanks, Sam. And you're right; HYDRA can't win, not ultimately. I know a lot of people today think that good and evil are two equals, fighting for dominion. But they're wrong. Good does not and cannot fall to evil; it is, by nature, triumphant. If I stand with what is good, then I will win even if I personally lose. That's what I always told myself in the War at least. You can never know if you're going to live to see another day, but if you fight for what is right, your cause is guaranteed to prevail."

Listening to the heavy the measure of burden in his friend's voice, Sam held his gaze on the cross secured over Steve's bruised neck. He felt a sudden ignition of warmth enter him. Deep into his core. He knew that Steve was coping with this hapless situation, but with all doubt cast aside, he managed to pull his lips into a faint smile of assurance. It wouldn't change anything if the super-soldier became a dog, Steve Rogers would always be Captain America through his spirit and soul. "I want you to know that matter what happens after we walk out of this house; you will always be my friend and hero." He said, holding a level of confidence in his voice.

"Thank you, Sam," Steve said, nodding his head modestly. "That means a lot to me."

"Not mention it, Cap," Sam said, his dark eyes drifted back to the shield. He didn't say anything. His lips curled into a hearten smile.

Steve finished his strip of bacon, and rested his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder. "I consider you one my good friends, Sam." He spoke with grateful cadence in his voice. "I couldn't have stopped HYDRA without you as my wing man... On my left." He dropped his light eyes and reflected on his memories of Bucky—the one friend who always had his back in the alleys of Brooklyn and on the battlefield.

_He grimaced as blood dripped over his chin, sniffling, he wiped his sleeve underneath his nose. The pain refused to subside in his jaw. A bruise was starting to eat away at the paleness of his cheek. He was ashamed that he couldn't defend himself against the brute. The trash can lid served as his shield for the beginning of the brawl; he wasn't strong enough. A spastic wheeze broke from his slip lip as he tried to lift himself of the ground, but weakness in his muscles increased and he remain laden in the pile of trash._

_"You really ought to stay out of these places, Stevie," The blonde haired boy paused in a heartbeat. His teary blue eyes searched for the source of the voice that forced him out of his musing, and he looked to the shadows. Sliding his wrist under his nose, Steve tried to stop the blood from emerging out of his nostrils. He turned his gaze to the corner fence and found Bucky leaning up against the wood with the same cocksure smile spread over his broad and boyish features. Regardless of the swelling of his jaw, Steve managed to hold a lopsided smirk_

_After releasing out a frustrated sigh, Bucky causally walked over to the heap of trash, his ice blue eyes leveled at the drops of blood. He was used to seeing red pour out of his little friend after a fight._

_It was a common thing with Steven Rogers._

_"Grhh...What happened this time, punk?" he scoffed, with a brush of concern intermixed with his amiable Brooklyn accent. He knew that the "little guy" was too stubborn to admit his pain. Another common thing between them. His blue eyes swept over the purple tinged bruises and smears of blood. Regardless, he pressed on, trying to get the truth out of his friend. "Come on, Stevie, tell me what happened?" He urged and his slacken brow scrunched with discontentment._

_"Some bully was picking on a little kid," Steve answered with a sigh of disgruntlement. "It didn't seem right to watch it happen."_

_Steve tried to stand up, pushing himself off the pile of refuse, but his feet slipped on a trash bag and he slid back into the same position he'd started in. He was so tired to being small, so tired of being powerless. If felt like every day he was nursing some new injury or illness, and his weaknesses were taking their toll, especially on his own morale._

_"Steve," Bucky sighed, long and deep. His face fell and his lips pressed into a discouraged frown. It was disheartening to watch his friend struggle to survive with his illnesses and grief. He was Steve's big brother, the guy who always had his back no matter what they faced in alleyway, junkyards and both sides of the tracks._

_Still, there was an aching sense of dependence and need as he looked soulfully into Steve's glistening blue pools. Bucky knew that he would be nothing without the little punk. Just a castoff of his father's shadow, going nowhere. He made a promise to Sarah Rogers, to always look after her son. A Barnes boy never breaks his word. "I told you many times not to get yourself involve in fight you can't win. Do you ever listen...No. You always have to pretend to be something you not, Steve. And if you got beaten up badly..." His voice cracked and his iron layers were melting._ _"I don't know what I would...Uh..._ _Never mind."_

_"What?" Steve pressed, groaning and slowly repositioning his body so that he was sitting up atop of the filth and muck scattered under his scrawny form... "What would you do? Don't you see that I can't just stand by while some injustice happens? That would make me both a weakling and a coward. Isn't that why the world's got so many problems today? People don't stand up for what's right."_

_"I don't care about that, Steve." Bucky retorted. His chiseled face shadowed with a wrenched expression, his smile faded into a brief glimmer of despondence. There was an edge rising in his voice. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to shed tears. He watched the blood slope aimlessly down his friend's thinned and sickly face._

_"Look, I promise your Ma, that I would look after you as a friend...Not as dead weight to lug around on the streets." He breathed, rubbing his thumb gently on the deep gash on the side of Steve's jaw. He pondered and looked steadily into the other boy's hardened gaze. "I want you safe...Not making a mess with your blood all over Brooklyn."_

_Bucky's cool and defiant exterior thawed into something benevolent. His muscles tended. "I can't lose you, punk. We gotta look out for each other, yeah, I know it's a tough world and sometimes good people get hurt." He nudged a fist lightly into Steve's bony shoulder. "I know I'm not the best friend a kid like you could have, but I know you're something special...You may look small to those jerks... "_

_His blue eyes narrowed at the dented tin lid behind Steve. A faint smirk pulled over his lips. "...but when I see you holding that stupid trash can lid...You look-Um... Brave."_

_"Brave?" Steve repeated, shaking his head and giving a shallow laugh. He mirrored Bucky's pensive gaze. "That's not exactly the word I would use. More like stubborn, or maybe stupid, but you already used that one, I think. Or was that about my amazing weapon?" Steve held up the lid and took a dramatic pose, evoking a laugh from both himself and Bucky. "You never know," he said, cocking his head and turning the lid in his hands. "These may come into style someday."_

_Bucky shook his head, and slung his left arm over Steve's shoulders. "You never know, punk." His lips curled into a feeble grin, trying his best to give his friend hope. That's all he could give him. "You never know..."_

_"Well, then it's good to know you'll always be there," Steve replied with a contended sigh. "Thanks Buck."_

_Bucky lifted his chin, pulling Steve close and securing his arm over his lower back as support. "Yeah, well, don't mention it, punk." he replied, his throat wavered as he wore his suave exterior and walked him out of the alley to face the world ahead. He brushed off the scraps of potato peelings off Steve's coat. "Next time those jerks have you on the ropes... Just throw a trash lid at their heads." Steve looked at him with a weak smile. He flicked the pieces to the ground and they continued walking._

 


	22. Chapter 22

 

****

 

**{Chapter 22}**

* * *

"Where exactly are you leading us?" Anna called out from behind. She nudged the slower of the kittens with her muzzle, urging her on. Clusters of ominous buildings, one on either side, had become domestic houses shrouded by muted sunlight. Traffic no longer blared dangerously on the street. Although, she still felt utterly ineffective and exhausted from the long journey, her fiery and defiant spirit flickered with a kindling flame of hope.

Still, Anna felt the abandonment -the absence of human touch embracing her into warmth and security. She had missed him...Missed hearing his strong heart beat while mesmerized by the sculpted details of his physique, eyes alit, tracing over the scars left from the abuse he had endured in the chamber. The feeling however, grew less potent as time stole her life away and she lived in shadows and desolate places; searching, in vain it seemed, for repentance against the devilish enchantment.

She had to protect these babies, despite the storms clashing within her. It was a lifetime of pain, survival and broken dreams. A lonely and desperate road that she had been forced to take, ever since the curse trapped her inside a vessel of a cat-a stray. Tiny breathes. She took a few intakes of the cold air and looked down at the two wobbling kittens meowing their protests to the long journey. "James," she called out with concern in her strained voice. "These little guys can't go too much further."

Bucky was ahead of them. He stalked cautiously towards a parked vehicle. Awareness of danger made his senses alert and blue eyes focused sharply on a vacant driveway. The blow of the cold November wind ticked the cat's back like a thread drawn across his cinder fur coat. It was unpleasant. He brought his slender form lower, into a pouncing stance, and felt the valves of his heart thump with a consistent beat. He was searching for their pursers-HYDRA operatives. His nose crinkled a little as he caught a wafting and familiar scent in the air. They were close on his position. He turned his head while fighting against the powerful urges to run. "You know I've never been good at having a sense of direction." He countered back in a roughened and coarse drawl. A cocky gleam managed to sparkle in his eyes.

Anna rolled her golden eyes and chuckled. "And is this good sense of direction what has kept us on our feet for hours?" She shot him a mischievous glance, feeling warmth fill her heart after too long without a joke or laugh.

"Not really," the former Soviet assassin drawled back coolly. He grunted as he lifted his body from the pavement, shaking off the flecks of snow that collected over his fur as he gained his balance. He lumbered a few steps closer and stared at her. "I'm not use to living like this, Anna." There was a brush of derision in his voice. "We were a lethal team back in Russia, but out here we're just lost."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," Anna mused. "I felt lost while we were in Russia, too." It was true; all the time she had lived in the bonds of HYDRA, she had been their tool, not a person. She had never possessed any objectives of her own, nor any dreams or hopes. James had been her only star in a sea of dark night, and despite their condition, she was almost content just to be at his side with renewed purpose and meaning. Even if all their hopes proved to be in vain, at least they would fail fighting for something that was their own and worth the cost.

Every fiber in his slender body hardened and whirled into the pit of his stomach when heard the measure of grief in her voice. He froze momentarily, gathering his strong and defiant poise. He wore an unreadable semblance and slowly crept an inch closer to meet the amber orbs of the other cat. Bucky stared blankly at her. Despite the struggle of fighting the curse, his devotion for Anna still remained unbreakable. He finally managed to release his pain through tears, drenching his ebony fur with their tracks.

* * *

{Flashback}

It was a canvas of brilliance abstracting against the darkened sky. Light snow began to descend as the disjointed glows of the restless city became captured in restless waters. The Winter Soldier lay on the cement rooftop, fully garbed his black combat uniform, and pressed the muscled planes of his abdomen flat in bench rest position. His severe blue eyes were locked on the target, his metal hand supporting the rifle, keeping the butt of the stock secured into the pocket of his tensed shoulder, as his body waited to responded to the recoiling jar of the gun's fire power. His right eye closed, and his left looked into the scope lens, he wasn't focusing on her, just the mission. He breathed in the frigid air, tuning into the own sound of his steady heart thumping in his ears. Everything dulled as he disabled the safety lock. Once he was in range, and the target's head was in the position, he pulled the trigger and made the kill shot.

Glass shattered into pieces and blood spilled onto the champagne rug of the hotel room. The mission was complete. Target eliminated. He looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes fixed on her leaning against the wall. He departed from the world of red, his vision cleared as he stared at the flawless beauty waiting in folds of silence. Anya. His alluring and dangerous partner -a level six operative of the Red Room. She was trained and unmade to become a killer and thief of infiltration. Her methods were prestige and she used the elements of shadow around her, vanishing into the darkness like smoke fading in moonlight. She was also brazen, unpredictable and young.

Standing to his full height, Bucky took a moment and his dark, stark, blue eyes drank in the sight of his elusive partner; she was dressed in a black coat with a collar to protect her statuette neck, on the shoulders were stitched patterns of silver and her long brunette hair covered by a wool hat. Her dark eyes were soulless and hypnotic, she was designed by Zola to manipulate and slay men -actress, dancer and assassin. The masters gave her a codename to carry the essence of Russia and the vibrant colors of red every time she completed the directive of the mission-Jewel Crimson.

"If your trying to distract me, it's not working," He growled dissembling his rifle and placing the pieces into a duffle bag. "You did well tonight. A little sloppy, but you'll get the hang of it once your body becomes immune to the vibrations of taking a kill shot."

"Sloppy?" Ayna shot back, only a hint of irritation evident in her stoic voice. Her eyes flashed a bit and she ground her teeth as she pushed herself gracefully off the wall and took a step towards her mission partner. "I hardly think that is an adequate description. But what could you see of my doings with your eye fixed on the scope? Unless I truly did distract you, in which case you are the sloppy one, not me." Her tone was slightly mocking but also the tiniest bit playful, and she waited to see how her companion would respond. How much of his humanity remained?

"It's different up here. You need to focus on your surroundings at all times." He gritted with a disgruntled tone, eyes sharp and darkened by the tresses of hair falling over his faceplate. "I have been given the orders to instruct and discipline you." His throat started to ache and lips held a grimace against the hot metal of the mouthpiece that covered his strong jaw. As his eyes adjusted to the red flashes of siren lights, confusion begun to pound against his skull, in a dull and relentless throb. It was infectious to stare at her, and for the first time he felt a connection that hadn't been rewired into his mind.

Shaking off those feelings, he heaved out a strangled breath, too stubborn to remove the plate off his slacken feverish skin. He wore a guarded cold semblance and spoke with firmness as he executed out an order. "I expect that you will receive this information well...If you refuse to obey these commands you will sent back into solitary confinement."

What little mirth had been in Anya's attitude was quenched, and she dropped her gaze. It seemed like her partner had, for a brief second, felt something; a hidden warmth had been sparked behind his eyes for a moment. But when he returned to his cold, unfeeling expression, Anya was reminded of the terrible, inescapable fact that they were not human. They were just tools in the fist of HYDRA, and nothing could ever change that. There was, therefore, no point in trying to sugarcoat anything. They should just do their missions without emotion or even consideration.

"I understand," she responded coldly. "In what ways should I improve?"

The Winter Soldier released a rough and deep breath. He thumped his boots closer to her. His imposing shadow blocked the moonlight shining in her rich brown eyes.

He seized her delicate wrist with his strong hand-and restrained her against the wall. His chest was an inch too close to hers, heart pounding under the leather of his uniform. With a gentle squeeze, he lifted her arm to his metal shoulder. The Soldier was so tense and yet his haunting blue eyes held a stillness in them. "You have to learn to trust your partner," he responded in a muffled voice, almost grating up his parched throat, all the while fighting against his programming. He looked down at her fair and crestfallen exterior with a searing glare. "It will become a your weakness of violation, Kotenok."

"You're not making that easy," Anya responded with an icy scowl. She regretted words as soon as they exited her mouth, and she sucked in a breath as she prepared for some form of discipline. Her stubbornness might be an advantage during a mission, but in the aftermath it could become her downfall. "We both need to trust each other," she said, trying to recover quickly. "It doesn't just go one way."

He looked at her, his blue eyes narrowed to his bionic hand. His shoulders grew rigid and he took a step back. "Apologies," he said in a low rumble, his head bowed, and messy strands draped over his exposed features. "I'm not use to having someone watch my back and I sense that you are afraid of me?" He decoded her emotions and gave her an assuring squeeze on the shoulder. "I will not harm you," he divulged, inclining his intense gaze back to her. "You know that your life is for HYDRA...Nothing else."

"I know," she said, trying to mask the bit of disappointment that crept into her mind. She didn't know why, but she felt that she should exist for more than just HYDRA. But she could not conjure up any reason to wish for anything outside of the webs of HYDRA, so she shoved the considerations from her mind. She was not made to think; only to obey.

"I never intend to undermine HYDRA," she said, her tone strongly conveying her loyalty, blind though it was, to her handlers.

"You should not use such words in your defense." His soft baritone voice carried through, neither placating nor condescending as he observed her. "It's necessary to obey if you want to survive." The Soldier stood firm as she sent a hard glare his way. The edge of his concealed lips faintly quirked as he suppressed a smirk. Of the many students he could recall having trained in his lifetime, this one here both intrigued and frustrated him unlike any other. It was her defiant spirit.

His memory was clouded, but he could remember training many frightened little girls and angry boys for Hydra and KGB in his past. The few to have survived his teachings never possessed a defiant courage such as this one. Though she was by no means a little girl, she carried the wounded spirit of one inside a grown woman's body. His eyes softened as he looked over her youthful appearance.

"Unless, of course…" He cocked his head to the side, his long dark strands cover his eyes like curtains, "...you really want to die out here…" His words were manipulative and cold. He knew anger was a strong motivator and since his access to her was restricted to provide close comfort, he knew that this was the most effective way of reaching her.

Anya was not sure how to take the comment, but she felt at least partially insulted. Anger flared behind her eyes, and narrowed them and fixed the Soldier with her keen gaze. "I am not going to die, not here or anywhere else. You misjudge me."

His blue eyes held the darkness of an arising storm while his blank expression grew unyielding and feverish at the fire coursing in her veins. As chaotic and invigorating as this mission had been on rooftops, he was despondent to find that it was all work and no play; and if there was one he wanted more than a hot pelting shower, it was running his real hand through her long mahogany hair, ripping off that mask and getting lost into a passionate embrace with her. It seemed she also knew his thoughts, almost as if they have been engaging into this dangerous game for years-he remembered her as a child sitting in a classroom with other girls. He remembered sparring with a young woman-same red lips and brown eyes. Confusion lapped his mind like unsettled waves, and he fell into utter nostalgia. He had memories with her...There was a deceptive lie that kept them apart.

"I..." He swallowed. "I feel like I know you." The Winter Soldier's gravelly tone dipped down into soft and reverent voice. He breathed in the lavender scent wafting off her pale skin. It was calm that he once felt before. Every time he stole a glance at her another spark of memory flared. He hadn't been searching for her in the dark abyss, and yet somehow she found her way back to him. Through reality and time.

_Anya._

Those were the major factors that kept him frozen in the silence as he rocked a step forward and invaded her space with a heavy heart. Those moments passed, somber, slow and irrelevant, and when he reached to clutch her shoulder, there was a wall of restriction building in the space between them. He wanted his emotions to remain unnoticed. Unseen by her. Unwilling though to show her just how much power she held over him, the Soldier resolved to a more casual and restrained approach that equaled the scorching tension she was exuding. He was taking a huge risk. "Did we have another mission together?"

Anya allowed her stubborn pride to drift away as she looked harder into the icy eyes of the Soldier before her. Something did seem familiar in them; she had either not noticed or ignored the sensation until now. But how could she know him? Was he from another mission? Or from her own erased past? She wondered why the knowledge of her previous acquaintance with this man made her stomach twist within her.

Then, out of nowhere, a name appeared. At first there was no background, no picture, not anything but a feeling. It was a good feeling, and it was a good name, so Anna let her mind cling to them.

"James?" she whispered under her breath, looking up from her musings to see if there was any recognition in the gaze of the Soldier.

His eyes instantly snapped down, not excepting to hear his name-his real name, he froze in utter shock. The mar of his memories with her entreated his several painful heartbeats to subside. When he focused his glassy blue eyes on her, cloud cover dissolved the bite in his tears. Releasing feverish pitches of heavy breath, he reached up and slowly removed his mouth-piece cover his jaw, feeling his clammy skin react to the coolness of the air.

He breathed and stared for a long moment, allowing the conflicts of his past to resurface. Feeling a sense of unease, he methodically began clenching his metal hand tight and fierce. Trying to cleanse the poison in his veins was hard at first; he never broke his eyes away from her. "I know you..." His tone was deep and throaty; his lips slacked into a hint of an unsettling frown and tongue curled up in his mouth as he stammered. "We're more than just partners."

Anya felt moisture sting her eyes, and she sucked in a shaky breathe as foreign emotions swept through her body. She felt her hand irresistibly drawn out, and before she knew it, she had taken the Soldier's-James'-hand in her own, clasping it tightly. There was strength and steadiness in his grasp, and amidst the tumult of manipulated memories, she found a bit of refuge.

"James," she breathed, not now as a question but a plea. "I..." she faltered, a tear spilling out onto her cheek. "They took you away! Oh James, how can we go back to them? Please don't tell me we have to go back."

She lost her restraint and rushed forward, meeting James in a sobbing embrace. Moments ago, she had not known herself capable of such emotion, but now it seemed that it had been pent up the whole time. She allowed herself to cry into the Soldier's strong shoulder, feeling that it was safe to do so, even without specific memories to confirm her assumptions. She was losing herself, yet gaining more than anything HYDRA had ever offered. But what did James say? Anna pulled back a bit and looked into her partner's eyes, searching for hope and affirmation.

Disarmed. Blood was flowing faster and harsher in his veins. He was molded into the Red Room-butchered and tortured until his defiance was broken. Watching her become a victim of HYDRA's twisted delusions was unbearable, almost hard for him to breathe as he felt the stiff ache compromise his chest. "We have to go back. They'll kill us if we disobey, Anya."

"I will go with you if that's what you want," Anya said after a long pause. "But I don't think living there is much better than dying out here. Not if they take what is most precious to us." Her eyes still glistened with tears, but she was recovering a bit of her composure. She let out a sigh and took a step back, though she would have liked to stay by his side. Now she felt cold and alone, but it did help her focus her mind. "I guess we should get moving, then. The possibility of danger rises every second we remain near the kill sight."

"They won't detect us if we stick to the shadows," He returned with sentiment gleaming in his blue eyes, his flesh hand seized her wrist, heating the frosty exterior of her exposed skin.

Her fingers maneuvered around and closed around his hand, clenching it tightly. She stared into his haunting gaze, losing herself momentarily in his eyes. But her instincts were urging her to move before they invited trouble, so she simply nodded in response to his statement, ready to follow him back to the rendezvous.

"Anya," he said in a low, smoky tone. The drizzle of rain prickled his skin as he caught her gaze in those moments of silence. He felt trapped, lost and numb as his blue eyes focused on the light captured in the darkness of her pupils. He brought her hand closer to his armored chest, fingers splayed over her cold knuckles, securing an ease of warmth as he felt her shiver against the remnants of the light down pour. This had become their defining moment, nothing mattered-just her. "Do you trust me?" he asked in a shallow breath, watching her nod in response.

With that, he drew his lips closer to affix with the softness of her pale cheek. He tilted his head, sloppy tresses of hair stuck to his jaw, and in fluid motion he crushed a searing kiss close enough to her lips, relishing the feel of heat and cold mixing under the edges of mouth as she closed her eyes and cherished one mending piece of devotion with him. They were still connected, in love and strong.

* * *

Closer. When the word invaded his hazardous thoughts, Bucky sucked back a despondent breath, his luminous blue eyes locked onto her for a moment. The air buffeted against their fur as hesitation whirled in his veins. "I never meant for you to feel pain, Anna." He tested his words in a delicate manner. His wayward paw reached out to caress her. It had been more than a decade of neglecting his emotions. He tried to confront his own heart, no matter if uncertainty clashed against him, he would tell her the truth. I love you.

Pushing the guilt down was the only way to prevent it from controlling him, fear and pain pulsing in his temple as he hitched out a breath, but the coldness grew in him, spreading and devouring. He wanted to say so much, but those words didn't go very far. "What happened back in Russia, it doesn't matter. We're together. We're alive. And I'm not letting you do this mission solo," he declared, in a firm timbre. His eyes hard and determined. "This is our fight...Our life."

"I hope so, James," she said, letting his tender touch linger. She tried to absorb the hope and warmth that rested in James' eyes, imagining what it would be like to be truly free. "I am weary of being dead."

"Don't say that!" Bucky shot back with a flat venomous tone, holding his tongue. He crinkled his muzzle into a distasteful scowl. His furry hide bristled. He felt powerless as memories of her being strapped in the chair twisted out of the cervices of his mind. "It's hurts so much. I can't think about losing you again."

He resisted the urge to take a step back once he saw her eyelids narrow to slits. Tempering himself, he knew practicality wouldn't help either of them right now. Neither would denial. "I know it's been long time since we lost each other, but we have to keep a cool head, otherwise we'll never have that chance to make them pay, Anna." Bucky narrowed his eyes, head down, and looked at the kittens huddling closer to her. "We have to keep up our strength...and try not to let this get to us."

"Try not to let this get to us!" Anna growled back. She unsheathed her claws, tail swaying against the snow. "Has it crossed your mind that we're CATS?" She was enraged and patience was wearing thin in her. "Worthless and homeless strays that prowl the streets looking for warmth." Her paw swiped over the wrappers. "I never wanted any of this...I wanted a normal life, and to live it without HYDRA tracking us down like animals...Not like this, James. We're not living...We're just surviving from day to day."

This time, it was Bucky's turn to narrow his eyes into slits. Anna's anger, while justified, still struck a nerve in him as her words resonated in his mind.

Stalking forward, his expression puckered, and his eyes met hers in what could be considered a stare-down. "This isn't easy for me either, Anna. Do you think I'm enjoying being a guinea pig, AGAIN, for Hydra? This isn't the first time they've taken something from me!" His tone had grown to a feverish pitch, the anger in his tone restrained but the passion and pain clearly evident with his words. He wouldn't unleash his temper on Anna. He would reserve it for those that truly deserved it. Those that had once again found a way to make his existence a living hell.

"I was a monster before. They took away my humanity. My memories…they took away you." The cat bowed his head, eyes shut tight as he did his utmost not to crumble. "Right now I might not be standing on two legs or even have a place to call home… But I have my memories, and I have YOU." He exhaled roughly, his shoulders shaking as his confession poured out. "That's all I need right now to help us get through and find a way out of this. We. Will. Get. Out. Of. This." He enunciated with determined icy blue eyes that would leave no room for doubt.

Anna tore her infuriated brown orbs from him. There was a measure of desperation and remorse in his voice. 'I'm adaptable.' She thought looking down at the kittens pouncing on one another.

She used to be the kind of person that would eat weakness alive. She wasn't weak or a sucker.

Sighing a deep and painful breath, the disgruntled feline sauntered away from him. The connection-the love and devotion they once had- was diminished by the sick enchantment. She needed to seclude herself from him. How could he love her as cat? They couldn't hold each other in their arms, dance, and finally kiss. Cats didn't love, they just allowed nature to take its course and become enslaved by the instincts to survive. "Face it, handsome. We're different and it's time for us to adapt to this life." She turned her head, and looked back at him. "I trusted and fought with you all those years...I'm not giving up on you. Lead the way and I will follow you, James Barnes."

Bucky leaned in forward, closed his eyes and pressed his muzzle against the side of her face, stroking affectionately. "I really want to kiss you right now, but I don't think it will work." He nuzzled his face onto her back, pressing her against him and dampened her fur with a gentle lick. Listening as a rumble of contentment escaped from her. It was a relief.

"We'll find a way, James," she whispered. "We're fighters to the end."


	23. Chapter 23

** **

* * *

The scent of vanilla ice coffee permeated the brisk air. Sam leaned against the driver's side door of his metallic blue Chevy his keeping his distance from Steve.

For a moment he had been stuck in a strange abyss of despondence, a place filled with horrible and gut wrenching images of failure. He saw the marble cracking through the engraved letters of his father's gravestone; the shattered glass with fragments of gun powder residue and the blank face plastered on his mother when the mugger pulled the trigger.

His past was interwoven web of regrets and mistakes-he wasn't seeking redemption as the Falcon, or searching for peace. He was fighting for other people's freedom so that they would never have to endure his pain and the endless torment his thoughts conceived when he drifted back into the shadows of his past.

Inhaling the cold relief of the frigid breeze, he took a shaky sip of his coffee, while his dark eyes were aware and focused on his distressed friend crouched on top of a picnic table.

The changes from the spell were increasing each hour. After the incident at the coffee shop, Steve had stormed away from all the bewildered and frightened looks of thrown his way by customers. The effects for the curse were devolving his body into a untamed beast.

Right now, Sam could see the inner struggle plainly clouding the stoic captain's hooded light azure eyes, the distant grief and burdens Steve carried within his noble spirit. Steve was a master fighter and a compassionate leader. Not a victim or a caged animal.

Steve knew the limits and consequences of his choices; but this curse or whatever HYDRA science had infected him with was taking a toll on not just his body, but also his resilience and heart. Steve wanted a life with Peggy. He loved her to the point that his heart would shatter into pieces each moment his stare fell onto her wrinkled skin and murky dull brown eyes. He wanted to retire from his duties as a soldier and take another road-there was a division. A blockade that forced him to drive off course-his love was now trapped inside a fading shell of a woman lost in shadows of memory and his humanity was becoming devoured by the curse. There was no easy road to take. Sam had his back, standing at his left and helping him cope through the dire situation unfolding each hour. He only had twenty- four hours left to free Bucky from the sordid enchantment.

"So how much time to do you have left?" Sam interjected with a curious tone, looking evenly at the shadows of regret etched into the glazed chiseled skin of Steve's angular face. Sweat was pouring out him. The brim of the baseball cap was tipped over his brow and his swollen lips were fastened into a neutral line. His blue eyes stung and expression placid.

Sam blew out a breath of frustration. He needed to be strong. He proceeded forward ever so cautiously and tempered the racing tempo in his chest. He could be treading on dangerously territory since the curse was fully effecting Steve, but he couldn't shy away from his friend no matter what the curse had befell him. He leaned down and risked his hand as it moved towards Steve's tensed shoulder. A breath away from contact... Sam wasn't alarmed nor surprised when his wrist was seized in a tight grip with lightning fast speed.

"Sam..." A deep-hoarse toned bellowed from under the obscurity of the hat.

Sam steeled himself and held up a cool and composed mask as he stood face-to-face with Steve - what had become of him to those few moments of silence.

"Steve..." Sam spoke with concern as he stared into the familiar yet completely strange face in front of him.

The face of a handsome man merged with that of a dog-a beast. His jaw was longer, his teeth as well as his pointed ears. His short blonde hair wild and unkempt, falling in thick strands in front of his face. His skin that was once a healthy flush gleamed with sickening sweat. A untamed snarl erupted out of his seething canines as he fought to regain emotional strength. And his eyes-those familiar unchanging ice blue eyes-burned with dangerous fire that could consume him were he to stare and venture too far into them.

It would intimidate and frighten the unseasoned eye as it did with a few unfortunate citizens at the coffee shop. But to a hardened soldier such as Sam - who had seen countless horrors in his young lifespan - he met it with unflinching eyes and a firm resolve. "Hey, man, it's okay," he spoke reassuringly to his unyielding and transforming friend.

Steve snorted as he released Sam's wrist then lowered his head down. "You should just leave me, Sam..." He growled in a deep and booming tone that would be sure to put the other Avengers quivering with unease.

Sam moved away and took a seat on the wooden plank. "You need to stop fighting this battle alone." He trailed off...unsure of what else to say. All thought and hope abandoned him as he let his gaze wander into the reflections of the cracked shield. The light fall of snow became an eased comfort to keep him from falling apart in front of the enchanted super-soldier. His brown eyes searched though the shimmer of ally for a proper voice to his thoughts. His turmoil. He reflected on his training and the best way a soldier-a wing man- to alleviate his emotions was to focus on duty above all. It was in that he took guidance from.

"Captain America never gives up when things like this get him down. We'll find a way to change you back, Steve. No matter the cost." Those words sounded hollow on his tongue despite solicitude they should bring.

"It's not your fight..." Steve responded in a disgruntled whisper.

Sam closed his eyes and dipped his head solemnly. "No...My friend is in trouble. I can't sit here and allow him to carry out this battle alone." He again trailed off, unsure of himself and how he he should proceed to his intended thoughts.

"Sam, I don't except you to fight with this war with me," Steve spoke through, alleviating his turmoil. "I made the choice...This is my fight. I will accept defeat if it means saving lives."

"You want to live the rest of your as a dog?" Sam raised his voice a pitch higher. "What about Peggy and the Avengers. They need you...You can't give up, Steve."

"They'll be fine," Steve insisted adamantly, trying to nail down his point. "Saving people is what I'm made to do. If I had ever been willing to stop because the risk might be a little too high for comfort, I wouldn't be here right now. The point of being a hero isn't staying alive to fight another day, it's being willing to die for anyone at any time. Especially a friend." His voice broke and he took in a long, shaky breath. "I owe it to a promise to give this my all, even if that means death." He looked up and faced Sam, his eyes revealing the defiant despair of his predicament. "But if you get caught in the crossfire, things will be far worse than otherwise."

Sam felt his breath slowing. The despair that crawled into his veins, glacial and relentless. He felt useless. Soldiers never quit. He failed to save Riley and he wasn't going to fail Captain America. He wondered if Steve had been brainwashed or influenced with a mind control toxin. There was a possibility. HYDRA experimented on the Winter Soldier and Natasha in the Red Room, so maybe they infected Steve with a substance during the attack in the alley last night. Tumbling shards of hope poked through his chest as he listened to the continuous growling of the beast-canine- Steve was becoming. And Sam kept on persisting himself not to break down when he stole a glance at Steve's hands contorting into massive paws. He losing his friend.

"Steve," he said softly with urgency in his voice. "It's...I'm not giving up on you. Captain America. My...friend."

"Then why do you expect me to give up on mine?" Steve snapped back. He felt increasingly irritable, the effects of the curse making it exceedingly difficult to think calmly about anything. Pain was slowly swelling his mind and his gradually changing body, and the stress of it all weighed on his thoughts like a truckload of bricks. "I have to do this, even if..." he trailed off with a disheartened grimace. "I can't count the cost to myself right now. Bucky is all that matters."

"Bucky?" Sam nearly choked on a breath. His brow furrowed into a dumbfounded expression. He literally felt the cold metal touch of the Winter Soldier's grasp squeeze his heart. The intense and empowering images of the menacing face behind frays of disheveled longish locks of the phantom invade his mind. At first, his lungs cracked with a strain of breath and dread lessened. "Steve, you're talking about the brainwashed HYDRA assassin who tried to kill you...The Winter Soldier?"

Steve sighed a bit, wondering where the discussion would go now. None of his friends could really understand the pain and yet arbitrary devotion he felt on the subject of Bucky, but it was wearying to carry the truth alone. "Yeah; he was the Winter Soldier. He was caught in this curse even before I was, and I've been trying to help him get out of it." He paused, taking in a slow and unsteady breath. "I think I can save him, Sam. I failed him so long ago, and I can't let him slip past my reach again."

Clearing his throat, Sam fought against the vexation clinging to every fiber in his body. He searched for the reserves of truth in the captain's luminous blue eyes, and released a faint sigh with small fraction of sentiment towards the assassin's fate. "So Bucky can transform into a dog like you?" he asked.

"No; his form is a black cat," Steve corrected evenly. "He hasn't ever been able to become human again since the first transformation. It's been way harder on him than on me. He's been under the curse for a long time."

"Are you sure about that, Steve?" Sam felt a tight knot of weariness constrict in his gut. A constant pulse of remorse surged in his veins as he turned his stare away and recollected his thoughts. "It could be a trap...He is an operative for HYDRA. They might he using him to get to you..."

"Could I possibly risk not helping him?" Steve asked in a strained voice. All the dangers posed by HYDRA seemed insignificant when Steve thought about Bucky suffering alone. His friend had been through enough torture; the least Steve could do, especially as Captain America, was fight for Bucky's freedom. "What would you have me do even if it is a trap? How could I let them do this to him?" Tears threatened to spill onto Steve's cheeks, and his throat constricted with emotion. This was an impossibly difficult situation, and he felt like it was ripping his soul to pieces.

Sam narrowed his dark eyes, a harrowing sense of trepidation stirred beneath him, and he tried to convince himself that Steve would make out alive-extract himself from HYDRA's shadow and regain his inner strength. He made his face more leveled with the captain's face and searched through the opaque storms of his blue eyes; trying to find remnants of hope-the existence of humanity that was still buried beyond the folds of the curse. After draining out a heavy and long breath, while maintaining eye contact and his heart become pent up with the desire to save his friend.

"Steve," he whispered, almost forcing the words out of him. It felt like a stab in the heart to feel empathetic towards a man who tore his wings apart and kicked him over the side of the helicarrier. Even still, he had to show humility to his enemy and cast all remorse aside...He had to forgive Bucky. Seizing the the overwhelming promise that laid across his heart, Sam gripped the super-soldier's rigid shoulder and erased all doubt-and cold vengeance. "It's not going to be easy..." he resumed his words. "...whatever you need to do...I'll be right behind you."

Steve gave a genuine smile and nodded. He could see that it took a lot of effort for Sam to support him, and he knew that this was due at least in part to their previous encounters with HYDRA's asset. But Steve had already witnessed some healing of Bucky's soul in the days they had been together, and cursed or not, his friend was becoming bit by bit like his old self. Steve just prayed that Sam would one day meet the Bucky that had defended Steve when they were only boys.

"Thank you, Sam," he said quietly. "I know this isn't exactly ideal, especially for you, but I have hope that we can save him. And when we do, you'll meet someone very different from the Winter Soldier."

For a silent moment, Sam fixed his stare at the patches of fur coating the skin into between Steve's knuckles as the world spun around him. Knowing that Steve was preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice for Bucky made him feel the raw torrents of guilt coarse into his veins-he lost Riley because he never dared himself to move when the hail of bullets rained and blocked out the sun. And all he saw as a glimpse of his wing man's body falling out of the sky...from his reach forever. He swore an oath that he would always have his partner's back...No matter the cost or how impossible finding hope might be when the smoke cleared. Listening to the measure of gravity in Steve's determined voice ...that really hit home, and then he realized that he was being selfish towards allowing his anger cloud his judgement with Bucky-his father told him there was always a reason why good men have trails in their journey-whether it was a test or a lesson -he had to trust his friend and his own heart during these dire hours.

At the same time, he felt a twist of relief when his eyes fell onto the silver plated compass secured in Steve's trembling hand. If there was anyone to anchor Steve Rogers out of the raging tempests and back into a safe harbor it was Peggy Carter. He sighed shortly. "Do you want me to drop you off at the nursing home?" he implored softly, watching the soldier's face morphed into abashed expression of sheer defeat. "Steve?"

Steve snapped out of his thoughts and sorrow and looked up. "Yeah," he answered somewhat distantly. Although looking at Peggy's aged face would bring him pain, he knew it would also help him find his courage and strength. He eyes had never dimmed, and their hope was contagious. He could use a good faith-infection today. "That'd be great," he said, finally making eye contact with Sam and nodding. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Cap," Sam managed to pull his lips into a assuring smile moving towards the truck.

* * *

With Sam's words, the conversation ended. The two men remained silent as they began to head for the nursing home, each wading through the thousands of worries and thoughts in their minds. Steve was busying being concerned about Bucky, and Sam, in turn, was concerned for Steve. But their worries did little to affect the situation, and Steve found that time passed quickly as they drove towards their destination. Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home, the place which Steve felt he both loved and dreaded above any other.

"Should I go in with you?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"If you could help me get past the front desk, that's be great," Steve answered, looking over his partially transformed body. "I'm not sure how I'll get in there without raising a big ruckus."

Sam considered the problem for a moment before rolling down his car window and looking at the building itself. "Which floor is she on?" he asked.

"First one; ground level," Steve answered, trying to piece together Sam's request. "Why?"

"You wait out here," Sam instructed, unbuckling his seat belt and opening his door. "When the window opens and I wave you over, come in."

"Is that really necessary?" Steve asked, cocking his head slightly. He'd broken into many places for both the Allies and the Avengers, but never a nursing home. It just didn't seem right. "We could freak some people out."

"Well, Cap," Sam said with a humorless chuckle, "I think the alternative would freak people out even more."

Steve knew Sam was right. There was no practical way for him to get past the receptionist; they had no supplies with which he could adequately disguise himself, and even if they did, he wasn't sure how straight he could stand up. It was hard enough just to sit in the seat of a car without his arms-quickly becoming forelegs-pulling him forward. All things considered, sneaking in through the window might be the only way inside.

"Alright," Steve yielded with huff of breath. "But be sure to...warn Peggy about what to expect."

Sam gave an understanding nod and swung the car door closed, walking up the sidewalk and towards the front of the building. Steve sat uncomfortably in the car, waiting with his eyes fixed on the window of Peggy's room. He felt his heart rate rise and his brain begin to scramble. What if she was appalled by his grotesque and monstrous appearance? The very idea of being rejected by Peggy was enough to make him shiver. She was his only link with the past, and he needed her.

After a few painfully long minutes, Steve saw the window open and Sam's face appear, waving him in. Steve clumsily opened the car and headed for the window, looking around to make sure no one was watching him. When he reached the wall, he put his paw-like hands on the sill and lifted himself into the room, finding Peggy's bejeweled brown eyes almost immediately amid all the other objects.

Sam kept the nurses busy outside the room; using his mildly humorous jokes about Tony Stark to serve as an distraction.

The sound of his boots dragging on the floor had lulled her awareness. "Steve?" Peggy murmured with incoherent whisper. Tears were building in her eyes as she searched for him through the dimness of the room. Her frail arms tried to lift her brittle room an inch off the mattress, but her eyes glint with arising hope as she managed to reach tentatively for his paw-like hand. She blinked momentarily, fighting to regain clarity as she stared at the towering shadow of the defiant and virtuous soldier she had loved for a lifetime.

There was distance between them; Steve reluctantly kept himself stoic in the steams of light. He didn't response to her at first, it was almost as if he was ashamed of his twisted and bedeviled shape while having a small quell with the beast stirring inside of him.

Peggy leveled her dark eyes on his leather boots drenched with flecks of snow. He was standing near the window, glazed with feverish sweat underneath his blue jacket; his breath grew into erratic pitches of frustration. Hard and sculpted bulk of muscle held a flush tinge as he shifted his intense blue eyes to the floor-his blonde hair was messy of drenched strands that seemed to stick on his sweaty brow. He was different...His entire form increased with rigid mass and there were remnants of canine fur encased over his chiseled features.

He really looked that he had tasted defeat with the Red Skull. Drawing out a shaky exhale, Peggy lifted her trembling hand, guiding him closer to the bed side and that was when she had noticed a swath of fur on his broad jawline. The man in front of her...He wasn't Steven Grant Rogers...He was condemned victim of a morbid circumstance. In other words, he was changing into a monster.

"Captain is that you?" she asked, feeling a dull throb pent inside her straining heart. "Steve-"

"Yeah, Peggy," Steve answered gently, stepping forward and taking her aged, wrinkled hand in his own. He felt emotion well up inside his throat as he registered the different sensations from his own hand-those caused by his changing form. It was so unnatural, so inhuman, that he wished he could get away from himself. But he tried to shove those thoughts away, and to better do so, he stared into Peggy's rich, chocolate eyes. "It's me," he said quietly, just loud enough for Peggy to hear.

Despite her illness, she could still detect his inner struggle. "Is everything alright, you seem very different?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but he could not immediately come up with a response. He looked deeper into Peggy's undaunted gaze and clasped her hand tightly, let a sigh of weariness escape his lips. "Things haven't exactly been easy this past week, Peggy. A lot of innocent people are experiencing a new form of HYDRA's wrath and it something that I have never faced before on the battlefield."

Hearing the humorous edge in his voice, Peggy stifled her withered lips into a tentative smile, "You were always so dramatic, Captain " she wheezed out a breath, forcing herself to fight against the ache spreading through her chest.

Watching his smile fade dismally as canine incisors poked from his lips. She wasn't afraid of his appearance, nor did she question the circumstance. Beyond the golden fur and pointed ears was still her right partner, even though her vision was blotchy and memory fogged with dementia, she held onto him and tried to gave him a sense of ease. "A lot has changed between us...You're still the most bravest and strongest of men I have ever had a privilege to know..Do not let this new change muck up your life, Steve, use what you gained and let it become your strength when fighting the noblest of fights."

Steve let out a slow, steady breath, but he shook his head slightly. "I know you're right, Peggy. It's just that this darkness is darker than any I have yet faced. I don't think I'll be able to come out at the end of this one unchanged. And that makes it hard."

Peggy shook her head, refusing those words. Carefully, she bought his hand to her chest, holding it there in those long moments of utter silence. "Are you afraid of defeat, Steve...Changes sometimes happen to test our strength whether in the body or spirit. Do not doubt yourself, because of this new mask you are wearing, find yourself in a different reflection."

Steve let Peggy's words sink in. She was right; she was always right. His body-this transformation-was really only a mask. He was still Steve. He was still Captain America. That meant that he could never let injustice go without a fight, no matter how difficult it would be for him to wage the battle. That was just who he was, dog or not. But the worry about Bucky remained in his mind, and he found himself unable to be rid of it.

"You're right, Peggy," he said softly, nodding slowly. "The problem is that this is bigger than me. They've got Buck wrapped up in this web, too. And even if I can have strength to face HDYRA, I don't know if Bucky can. Not on his own; not after what's already been done to him. And how can I fight on undaunted if I can't help him? I just feel so...powerless."

"You haven't lost the fight yet, Steve," Peggy muffled out a strained breath, her lips becoming dry as the bitter aftertaste of her medicine scraped against her throat. "There is always a path to be chosen when we lose ourselves in the darkest of storms..." She coughed, sealing her eyelids shut as tears streamed down her wrinkled and bony cheeks. Her fiery spirit had grown tired of being imprisoned in a fading shell. She wanted to feel young and live with him again. "I wish that I could fight this battle with you..I wish that so much, my darling."

"No one wishes that more than I do," Steve replied with a small smile. "I feel like I could face anything with you at my side. But I guess in a way, you do come with me. I carry your spirit with me into the fray; I have since I first met you. And it hasn't failed me yet. Peggy, I can't..." his voice broke with emotion, but he swallowed and continued. "I can't tell you how much you mean to me. Thanks for always being there for me."

Peggy hushed him with a firm tone,"Steve, I have known you so long. So long..." She lifted her aged spotted hands off the wrinkled sheets, and touched his face. "You deserve to live your life without the uniform. A soldier always knows when fight and never when it quit. You carry on the mission and never ask for things in return." She manged hold her emaciated features into a faint smile. She breathed harsh and painful. Her curled arthritic fingers gently stroked over the smoothness of his broad jaw. Steve looked down at her with emotion deteriorating in his blue eyes and he pulled himself close. She saw the burdens of his past welling deep into his steady gaze. "One day, you find your right partner and she will dance you and guide out of the storms of this life..." Her heart was aching. "You will love and cherished her as a good man, husband and a shield. That's all I want for you, Captain Rogers."

"I already found my partner," Steve insisted gently, looking past the age and seeing only the woman he had loved seventy years ago. "And there will never be anyone who can hold a candle to her."

With a grimace, Steve pressed his hands against Peggy's, but they were little more than paws now. His mind was weary, and for the first time, he felt like perhaps transforming here, next to Peggy, would be safe. He didn't have to be on guard now, so why not let his mind have a little rest? He would need mental energy later, and Peggy would not begrudge him for changing before her. She would understand, and her presence would be soothing.

Steve let out a sigh and dropped his mind's defenses. The curse swept in and invaded what little had not been under its dominion. His body rapidly finished the transformation that had been slowly occurring since he awoke at Sam's house.

It hurt, but the pain had always been present, and it was not very startling anymore.

He clenched his eyes shut until it was all over, and he when he opened them again, he was the same golden-haired husky he had been a day ago.

Peggy blinked once, twice as the harsh afternoon light spread against the room, but the blur of a fur was a slow resolve, and the large dog with wobbled closer to the beside, golden blur. This wasn't the first time she'd seen the elements of magic trap a human spirit inside a vessel, and fade deep into the strongholds of a curse, and she slowly drifting back into the past, recovering memories of her work with the SSR and with the daring and stubborn elite task force-the group of efficient and gritty fighters-the Howling Commandos.

It had been nearly a decade since she reentered that world and gave her pledge in the service of humanity and liberty. She remember infiltrating a HYDRA base and staring down a glowing green stone that was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. An level six informant had kept the relic inside a tin box-there was a secret behind the forbidden power that created the same force of energy of the cube. It was not of earth origin.

 _Steve, I need to tell you about something of the past...A dangerous power that if in the wrong hands will destroy of all of us ..._ She wanted to say those words to him, but the restricting pain in her chest prevented her. With a storm of dread looming over him, Steve looked displaced and weakened—he looked utterly defeated. Peggy swallowed, trying to reach for him as her shaky fingers gently stroke over his fur, but she didn't say anything.

"Peggy," Steve whispered and tilted his head, nudging his muzzle against her hand.  _Everything hurt._ His ice blue eyes gazed intently at her for a set of long moments and he saw youth and fire flow back into her cloudy brown eyes. He saw his Peggy return in a faint glimpse of searching for a chance unbidden hope. The constant pull on his heart strings drove him back into that moment when he heard her voice beckoning him to come back for their dance at the Stork Club.

He never had forgotten that sobbing plea of her heart as the radio faded out when he felt the impact of ice and water. None of that mattered. He was with her for a short time to comfort her and find a way to restore everything that was taken from them. "I've got a lot of things to tell you..." he confessed, holding her gaze. He released a slow breath, a few heartfelt words latched against his aching spirit. "...you told me once that being Captain America will always have a price, but I never thought everyone would pay it with me."

She let her eyes fall shut. "Steve..."

Steve trailed off and remained silent. Peggy's breathing became more steady, and he knew she had handled all the turmoil of thought she could for today. He was simply glad to be beside her; her presence was enough reassurance and strength for him to carry on the mission. Tentatively, he summoned enough confidence and nuzzled her laden hand lightly while giving her an small affectionate lick and he savored the touch of her wrinkled fingers caressing over his fur. Peggy had never ceased to give him hope, and today had been no different. He closed his own eyes and let out a canine sigh, taking in all the wonderful peace of the moment. He knew he wouldn't have it much longer.

"I'm here, Peg," he whispered, and sat against the mattress frame, protecting her. "I always will be for my best girl."


	24. Chapter 24

"Hello, Captain," her soft and pure variants of her voice lulling him away from the flashes of red haze. His thundering heart ceased to a beat, and he turned around with doubt rushing in his veins. Neither tears or heat merged against his skin; he felt parlayed in the moment as he caught the wafting smell of split champagne and listened to the ruckus of men fighting in front of the stage.

Blinking the moisture out of his eyes, Steve resumed in a unbalance stance, unconsciously balling his fists and emitting a sharp exhale of breath. With one daring shift of his gaze, and found her standing in the amidst of a crowd of war heroes dancing with their dames.

Peggy was beautiful, breathtaking and more stronger than he could imaged her to be in those moments when their world spin to the light tempo of band. His lips parted, and blue eyes never left her. Swallowing down his words, he regarded her with glistening blue eyes and took in the sight of her radiance dressed in a blue velveteen dress, with a corsage of flowers pinned on her chest, and curled chocolate locks tied onto a bun. Everything stopped. He became trapped in the moment with her. It had been so long. It felt like heaven. They were meeting in glimpse of heaven. "Are you ready to have our dance?"

Steve faltered a step back, his eyes narrowed at the bronze uniform that covered his densely muscled body, metals he had received for his courage, valor and utmost sacrifice gleamed in the dim lights and he was frozen. "I'm not very good at dancing, Peg." he admitted sheepishly, staring into her rich brown eyes that sparkled against the stream of twinkling lights hanging over a white victory banner. The war was over. He could go home.

"Hey, Stevie, you only live once." Hearing a familiar and Brooklyn accent call out for him; Steve spun around and stared deeply at alive and jovial Bucky Barnes smirking broadly; sitting at a table wearing his military uniform, dark hair slicked back and his arm slung over a flawless, and alluring brunette with red lips. The young woman wore a black dress. They were happy and very much in love.

Peggy moved closer, her heels clicked on the floor, and she clutched his shoulder, leaning against his chest. "You're not alone. You've always had a partner...I'm here now, Steve. We can face the future together." she promised in a hushed voice, holding his hand at her side. "We can go home, my darling."

"There's nothing I want more than that, Peg," Steve breathed peacefully, bringing her hand to his lips, and brushed heat over her knuckles. "Right now, let's have our dance before the music dies out," he smiled, his blue eyes holding tears. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her closer touch her loose strands of hair touched his cheek. The world didn't feel heavy. The Paradox of his regrets dissolved as he felt the warmth of her body coil against his heart. They swayed to the gentle pace of the piano keys, and he was clutching her hand, staring lovingly into her eyes. "Is it to late to tell you..."

Peggy smirked a little, "Tell me what, Steve?"

"I love you, Peggy," he declared with a warm smile. His eyes revealed his heart. Gently, he laved his palm over her jaw, touched her jaw with his curled fingers, tilting her head back and enveloped his lips over her own, sealing a long, unhurried and perfect kiss. A kiss that would last forever. Timeless and true. She kissed her back equally, and he never parted, and -

"I love you, Steven Grant Rogers," she declared his name like it was a profound word etched over her heart. Gently, she enclosed her arms over his neck and kissed him hard and breathless. When they parted, he felt the coiling heat of her breath against his wet lips. "I will always be there to point you in the right direction..."

* * *

The faint groans of distress, awoke Peggy as she slowly opened her to eyes to morning light spreading throughout her room. Her weathered hand dangled over the edge of the mattress. She felt the unbidden warmth of his spirited presence-the heat and security nestling against her wrinkled fingers. Releasing a painful shaky breath, she managed with enough force of effort with the power of her olden determination to tilt her body close to the edge and gaze down at him.  _Steve_. He was beautiful-everything she had remembered about him still existed. His youth face held a healthy glow and the chiseled sculpt of his broad jaw was no longer tense, but his lips were always the main feature that entranced her the most- perfectly shape with faint arch and they still held their kiss that was shared in another lifetime. He had returned to her, but only for a short extension of time.

Closing her heavy-lidded eyes, Peggy summoned enough strength in her brittle hand and caressed the super-soldier's blonde bedridden hair, and listened to his breath, content breathing. He needed to rest to reserve his strength to face the arising storm.

The fact, that the stalwart and defiant soldier she loved was in her room, sleeping on the floor was tortuously unfair. A stabbing pain ignited within the narrow walls of her chest, and she fought against the moisture building against her crinkled eyelids. He was still close and yet so far away from her. Regardless, she cherished every moment with him, and never broke her gaze off his face. Oddly enough, the fog that invaded her mind four years ago, lifted and she felt stronger as if she could carry the burdens of the curse with him. Sighing out a despondent breath, she gathered the tattered fragments of her heart and merged them back together. She reached down and kneaded her arthritic and bent fingers through his hair. A genuine smile fastened over her brittle lips and brown eyes sparkled against the flecks of light.

Peggy swallowed thickly against the painful gasps racking in her lungs. "Good morning, my darling," she whispered, trying to hold her emotions in check, it took immense stubbornness for her not to release tears onto her pillowcase. Inside, her heart ached a reminder to her that time would soon betray them both. She couldn't let him go.

Steve awoke with a soft and grating moan peeling in his raw throat, his stiffened muscles protesting against the hard floor. Blinking the sleep haze out of his blue eyes, he traced his fingers over his arm, fully aware of himself, that he had transformed back into his normal human form. He was not sure how this could have happened; perhaps the presence and security of his love. He did not give himself much time to question the happening, though. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs around, lifting himself into a sitting position.

"Mornin', Peggy," he said, his voice dropping into a soothing pitch. His lips quirked into a faint crisp grin, feeling apparent joy course through his veins at the sight of her ever-bright coffee eyes. She was still beautiful. "Hey," A glacial crawl of pain threaded over his chest. He winced, staring longingly in her shining eyes. "You look very beautiful, my best girl."

It felt like she was trapped in a blissful wave of contentment, Peggy paused in a heartbeat when his light azure eyes looked steadily up at her. A sharp clench of deep regret, remaindered her of what she had lost seventy years ago. And she was still unsure how to react to him, but managed with enough strength to grip his shoulder with gentle ease. Her breaths sharpened. The sunlight became a blur as she eyes watered. Despite her pain, she resumed her stubbornness and felt her withered lips conveyed into a false smile. Everything wasn't fine.

Her face melted into a damaged expression, she cried a little, holding onto his shoulder. "Peg," he gasped tightly, feeling the desperation tug against his muscles. She wanted to become young again, the malignant sensation of despair wracked against her kinked ribs. Sensing her warring distress, he enveloped his hand over her rough knuckles and twisted veins. "Peggy, I'm here."

"It's not fair, Steve." She loosed a dry sob from her chest. It had been a decade of waiting and believing in undeniable hope that he would come back to her. She'd been lying to herself for years that she lived a good life, in the void of truth buried within her, she'd grieved from him in silent moments of staring at old photographs, war bonds collector cards and her laced wedding dress. She lived in torturous denial, condemning her own self to fall back into those memories and feel his warmth and strength, just like she always did. Now, he was there, young, defiant and untouched by time. She was losing him again. "I waited for you...For so long and now that I have you back... I'm the one who can't dance."

"Peggy-"

She felt a cough racking in her lungs, but still her eyes never left his dismal blue eyes. Steve had to embrace hope again, and believe in the impossible. She had to give him a piece of that with her words.

"Every time I look at you, I can still see that same Brooklyn kid who had been so gun ho to fight..." She pressed her lips into a grimace. She leaned an inch forward, clenching her hand tighter over his shoulder with a loving grip. A swell of regret constricted against her heart. "You've always been strong...You're going to fight this new dark form of HYDRA's new weapon against humanity, Steve. And you're going to win, because that's what Captain America does...He never surrenders."

Steve sighed and gathered his stern composure, "I suppose now would be a good time to wear my dog tags," he admitted with a labored breath, immensely frustrated with the cowardice which reside within himself and this morbid situation of being a captive of an inhumane punishment. "I need to figure out something. Soon. I don't have much time since the curse will take it's full effect tomorrow night, but I need to retrace my steps and find the locations of HYDRA's safe houses-"

"You will Steve..."

Feeling the warmth of a smile rise on his chiseled features, he flexed his biceps revealed the indentations of his broad muscle against the laves of light as he slowly lifted his massive body off the floor. "It's not going to be an easy task, Peg." He sighed, moving closer to the dresser. His pensive eyes regarded the backpack that Sam had left for him with a thoughtful expression, Sam had his back, while he unzipped a compartment of the backpack.

"Excuse me, beautiful, I gotta eat something to keep myself from sagging on the mission." he whispered. calmly, and then grimace as he tore the wrapped off a protein bar. His stomach rumbled against the emptiness, as he took a bite , devoured and chewed the bitter chocolate, oats and dried berries; relishing the combination of flavors on his pasty tongue, the snack served its purpose and filled the void. Still, he felt the dull aches of hunger rattle through his gut.

"It's not that bad...It kind of reminds me of the army snacks we used to salvage on our camps." He quickly devoured the rest of the chocolate coated bar, restraining his canine appetite from eating another. Regardless of his untamed reluctance to preserve the stash of snacks; he looked down at the half eaten bar with a disdainful gaze, feeling torn and separated from his promise to save his best friend, his brother, especially when they needed each other the most to fight. Bitterness resided in him as felt enhance strength fading into the tendrils of the spell.

The immeasurable weight of what he carried to do had been leaning too heavily on his soul; Peggy had managed to lift his burden a bit. It now seemed bearable if she was fighting with him in spirit and if her encouragement could stay with him no matter what. Steve leaned forward and gently brushed coiling warmth as his lips pressed delicately, and urgent on her wrinkled cheek.

"Thank you, Peggy," he whispered, softly against her cold skin. He pulled away, and for a moment looked into her brown eyes. "If I make it out alive, it will be in great part because of your own courage and steadfastness."

Peggy narrowed her eyes her face turned grim. She was fighting against the barest sense of the truth welled inside her heart. She tried to intersect hope that James Barnes would finally have a rewarding life away from the battlefield. Breaking HYDRA's curse wasn't impossible...Nothing was impossible. She had to tell Steve about the stone. "Steve.."

A painful wheeze resumed in her chest, and there was denying that time had weakened her heart. "...there is something I must tell you, forgive me if I don't remember all the details." Everything seemed to halt between them."When I was working with the SSR, we did a mission in Northern Germany, and discovered a rare and yet powerful relic.." She groaned, feeling her throat clogging up.

Steve detected her distress and turned around and poured her a glass of water, handing it to her. She took a small sip. forcing herself to remember. "It was a stone that glowed and changed one of HYDRA's captives into a pitiful creature..." As he listened, Steve creased his brow into a disheartened expression. "The agent called it a power stone and that it was apart of a collection."

"A power stone," Steve mumbled under his breath, trying to search though the recesses of his memory to see if he could recall such an object. All he could think of was the Tesseract, but clearly that was not what was causing the problem; it was safe with Thor in Asgard. "Do you know anything about the stone itself? Is there any way we could turn it off or destroy it, or even know where it is now?"

"It was never locked in the SSR archives," she said with certainty, and immediately narrowed her eyes at his large hand tracing over her crinkled knuckles. "But I think your changes into animal have to do with the stone's unexplained power."

Steve's brow knit together in befuddlement as he considered what that statement could mean. He already knew where it was? But he hadn't know about it before. Looking into Peggy's eyes, which were not dimmed by age, he was certain that she had spoken of what she was certain. And yet he still could not understand how she could be right. His mind was such a cloud of confusion, filled with warring sides and even pain, that he had no idea how he could dig into his memories to find that kind of information.

"Peggy, how can I know?" he asked gently, running his thumb lightly over her hand. "I don't doubt you, but I also don't follow."

Peggy winced a little, sucking back heavy breaths. "The stone can change a man into an animal if the wielder wills it, Steve."

"Yet how can I find the wielder? If only I could locate him before the curse takes its full toll on me, then maybe I could reverse its effects and save Bucky. And that would prevent anyone from ever doing this to people again."

"Steve," Peggy whispered evenly, her voice growing rough. Her brown eyes held the dullness of a lost soul. Still, her mind fought to unravel the unbidden truth that reflected in his clear azure eyes; his gaze steady and filled with uncertainty. More tears spilled over her gaunt cheeks, and she stared off into space; slowly drifting back into the laden state of her sickness.

Although, her fiery spirit wanted to protest, she couldn't escape from the heavy fog that encased her memories. She felt powerless. Reaching for his face, she absorbed the warmth of his flushed skin; she regained just the right amount of clarity to stare back into his watery blue eyes, filled with deterioration of pain and unease entrapped beyond his gentle stare.

Feeling his ebbing tears dripping over her shaking her, Peggy mustered up a pitch of breath watching his glazed eyes degenerating into a plea of desperation. "I know that you'll beat the dodge...You mustn't doubt yourself on the mission." she said in a low, grating voice. "I want you to find your strength and remember that what you carry inside can be the greatest weapon to use in the direst of our battles, Steve."

"I will, Peggy," Steve assured, clasping her hand, and tracing her fingers with repetitive motion. "I will never forget."

"You better not, Captain," she returned with a raspy breath, and stroked his soft lips with her thumb; feeling the stabbing of tears growing constant behind her eyes."When you find Barnes again,"she paused in her words, staring back into his pained blue eyes. "...tell him that he has a place on the wall of valor."

Steve felt his eyes mist over with tears, and he swallowed a lump of hesitance in his throat before nodding his assent. In his heart, he had always known that Bucky was worthy of such honor, but to hear someone else say it, especially one close to him, make Steve feel even better about the situation. He could be sure that he wasn't deluding his image of Bucky; his cause was just through and through.

Leaning forward with increased torrents of momentum, he followed her gaze as anchor, Steve gave Peggy a tentative kiss of farewell on her sunken lips. It was a kiss made out of love, and yet it was not wholly romantic in nature, for love goes deeper than feelings. As the idyllic fantasy of them -dancing- on a dock boards leading to a lighthouse with a fading sunset reflecting in the calm waters.

Each image reemerged from his bottled desires, Steve sealed his lids shut, feeling her breath carrying him away from the darkness. It was their hidden world. Losing traction from his subconsciousness and feeling her fading back into a slumber, he pulled away, brushed aside loose strands of her silver hair, and then as he stood up straight, he managed a smile down at her.

"I will fight for us, Peggy..." Steve declared with one of his heart-stopping grins, as he listened to her strained breathing cut into the silence. "We'll have our dance and this time I won't be late." he promised, clambering away from the beside. He closed the door, feeling the warmth of her kiss reside in his heart.


End file.
